Cloaks
by Sarehptar
Summary: After the fact, an alchemist sips Darjeeling and does a great deal of talking. It's not like things ever went according to plan anyway.
1. Red Tower Floor

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**Edit:** This story began as a very small project many years ago and grew into something I neither anticipated nor knew how to handle. To this day, it remains one of the concepts that I am proudest of, and I know if it were not for this story, I would not have become the writer I am now. This fanfiction, over its long, long course, has taught me an incredible deal about character, setting, pacing, and plot-and even more about how words can be managed and manipulated.

I began this story as a very enthusiastic but not very talented young writer, and all the flaws in its execution and wording are blatantly apparent looking back. Particularly because I wish to complete this story one day (soon), but don't have time at the moment to make requisite revisions, please treat these early chapters kindly, as living examples of just how far I have come. In short: yes I know this story really needs an unspeakable amount of work. Bear with me.

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Author's Notes: What's up? Sareh here. Well.. This is my first ever attempt at Dragon Knights fanfiction, so if it's absolutely terrible, be gentle okay? It's horribly short, but I promise things will get better! Well, I hope you like it!

Notes: This story is written entirely from Kharl's point of view TO Garfakcy. So, until further notice: Garfakcy "you".

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Disclaimer: I'll do this seriously once because I'll feel bad if I don't. Kharl, Garfakcy, all the other characters, every place, and even much of the plot of this story belongs to one Mineko Ohkami. It is not my intention to gain any profit from writing this, other than the personal satisfaction that thinking about Kharl can bring.

Background Music: Tell Me What the Rain Knows (Maaya Sakamoto)

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**Cloaks  
**By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 1-  
_Red Tower Floor

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One's life is like a cloak that cannot be removed. You wear it over who you really are... It shields you, it constricts your movements. By its graceful weaving patterns, it creates what others see. It can warn away or entice the world, depending on how it is sewn. And, in the end... The threads that held it all together dissolve slowly, one by one, until there is nothing left but many tangled strings of a once proud fabric.

If my life were a cloak, certainly, it would be riddled with the most minute of holes. Invisible to the eye and yet, at every interwoven lock, weakening the bonds that hold my being together. These tiny holes are the sins that have leaked their way into my life. There are many of those sins, I see now that I look up from the hem. That's where I am—at the end of a slowly unwinding cloth. And lying there, watching my cloak -my life- unravel in my hands, I wonder why… Why I did all the things I did. How I now regret those foolish things.

The first stitch of my cloak was sewn so long ago. Years? I have forgotten how many years, how many decades. The lands were different then, when I was first born. I don't remember a home or family. Youkai rarely do. After all, what demon builds a household? I laugh when I think this. They look at me; they stare at the blood that runs from the corners of my mouth. Even their whispers are muffled by the cold pain that claws at me. Only foolish youkai ever hope to lead a life with stability, with family... I was so full of foolish dreams.

I thought... I thought too much and learned too little. I spent so much time so selfishly. All the things I thought I did… All the things I thought I did for others, I did for myself. And I regret every choice I've made until now. I regret every life that I have taken, and every life that I have created. I have never tried to prove the existence of a "Heaven". Why would I have wasted my time on such a thing? Surely I—abandoned, scorned, despised, drenched in the blood of so many—surely I will never see a holy place. I told myself that I cared nothing for that land of eternal peace. I told myself that I would never fall, would never fail: that I would never need to stand on the ground before the gates of death. I was immortal. Foolish lies.

Worry, anxiety, care. I do not understand the way those feelings have been cascading into my veins so unnoticed. I once thought myself immune to those petty things. I was a fool. Before... Before I thought only of my own heart, my own desires. The way I bloodied my hands—killing and creating, blackening the souls of others so that they too could share my pain... I was so selfish—a sinner. And my greatest regret of all, my greatest sin was _you_. I can beg forgiveness for murdering, for poisoning, for possessing. But I cannot ask forgiveness for corrupting the heart of a child. I cannot ask for forgiveness for the stains of blood I added to your hands; for the horrors I made you endure, the carnage, massacre. The battles I made you witness, the injuries I let you take for me. Your heart, once so close to pure, was spoilt by my hands—my hands that caused so much destruction. I gave into foolish desires.

And as I, Kharl, the one they call the Renkin Wizard, lie on the Red Tower floor, staining the bright tiles crimson, I whisper only one thing. I whisper it to all of them, they who watch me with slitted eyes, and to him with the Light. But most of all, I whisper to you, you who let me sin unwittingly. I whisper, swallowing the copper taste of blood-

"Forgive me."

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	2. Death Seed, Blood and Emerald Eyes

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Author's Notes: AUGH! I'm soooo sooooo sorry I haven't updated this fiction in forever! FOREVER! But this chapter is really long, so maybe you'll forgive me. Or maybe I'll just confuse the hell out of you. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't take this chapter to heart okay? This is just my interpretation of Kharl and Garfakcy's meeting. I know many other people have other ideas about that unrevealed part of the Dragon Knights story, but this fiction is just my idea of the whole thing. I definitely have to thank book 13 for furthering my "family-man Kharl" viewpoint. Was I the only one who thought the Avis Rara (name of the doctor disguise that Kharl uses to seek in) scene was REALLY cute! I was almost in tears.. Kharl is sooooo adorable! Sorry.. Fangirl outburst there. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, which kinda wanders a bit. But anyway.. Am I the ONLY one who has noticed- Garfakcy has NO eyebrows (but he's still a bomb-assed bishi)! I went back and checked.. Nary an eyebrow to be seen! Think Mineko couldn't get them to look right on him? Okay, that was a totally random thought. Whatever. I'm going to be opening a new website with Dragon Knights images, fan fiction, and more of the like sometime soon. Whoops.. Gotta go. Enjoy!

Disclaimer:  
His hair's never been red,  
But I've seen it blue,  
I don't own him,  
So you can't sue!

Background Music: In the Land of Twilight _(.hack OST)_

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
Chapter Two  
_Death Seed, Blood, and Emerald Eyes_

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If I had not realized so much as I first heard their words, would I still be here—fallen on the Tower floor? There's a sea of crimson about me, but my eyes are blurred, and I cannot tell red tile from blood. I'm straining so hard to keep them in sight: their black boots all in a circle. But I am numb. I cannot tell if it is my body or the earth beneath me that is moving. Even so deadened, I can feel their stares, and I wonder... I wonder if their eyes see an enemy, as he once did so long ago. That day... It was another memory added to my collection of fell dreams.

That harsh voice… Is it yours? I can hardly tell the difference anymore. Your voice sounds like all the others, sharp and metallic in my ears. Your glaive is was shattered; most likely the armor I crafted was destroyed. It means you're weaponless, defenseless and among the "enemy." But you're calling... for me. Stop calling. If you truly understood who I was, my motives and the blackness of my soul, you would not fight your captives, trying to run to my side. You would be running in the opposite direction.

I sometimes wondered why you did not question me more. You never once asked me "Why?" Did you know my answer already? I don't think that you could. I never told you; I never told anyone my true reasoning. Perhaps, like so many times before, I was frightened. I was frightened by feeling itself. I was too afraid to act on anything but the canon coldness of the youkai soul. Even now, with my dying breaths in my throat, I will not tell you. I will never tell you that I took you in because of my own selfish need. Maybe it was the way we were so alike... The way I saw only myself when I looked on your tiny form, so helpless and alone. Am I a fool for wanting to quell that pain in you? I wanted you to have what I had not—a home, a family.

It was sunny that day, but not the warm sunlight that could lift even the darkest heart. It was a different light, one that seemed weak and distant; faded and gray. It is always like that after the morbid and beautiful glow of a scarlet sunrise. It was not a day that normal youkai would be itching to go into. I suppose even then that I was no normal youkai. The Master said to stay put, to stay indoors. I thought it odd that he picked such a bleak day to order that command. Perhaps if I had heeded his warnings... But I was young and brash. All I could see of the day was a new opportunity to test his gifts.

They were perhaps the only corporeal thing he had ever given me: twin birds, so large that they dwarfed my own five feet. He had handed them vagrantly to me with the orders that I was to 'Grow into them.' The memory brings a chuckle to my lips, and that brings its own well of coppery black blood, a now too familiar taste in my mouth. I don't think it was adoration for the creatures that made me love them so. No... It wasn't that. It was the very idea that anyone cared enough to give me gifts. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me. The Master, while stoic at times and fiery at others, was the closest thing to a father I have ever known. Under his wing I traded in rags for robes, cold dirt for a blanketed bed, tears for ash, and unwittingly, innocence for education. I turned my gratitude for acceptance and care into curiosity and determination. I forced myself always to work beyond his expectations, even as they grew, just so I could hear a single kind word, or more rarely, be rewarded with a fanged smile. I killed for that sort of prize. Every time my unique gifts struck down innocents with their own weapons, the master would grin darkly and murmur,

"Good. Very good." I should have been staring at the abomination my hands had created, but instead I was basking in his smirk and praise. I shouldn't have been so blinded by the childish need for love and appreciation. Indeed, whatever care he showed to me, I returned tenfold. I toiled so long and forcefully, that in the end, I had surpassed his skill in alchemy, in weaponry, in battle. But there was one aspect of his lessons I could not understand fully until after his death. Each time he ran my hands over the corpses of innocents, filled my cup to the brim with frothing human blood, destroyed villages and families, I felt nothing. My mind could not grasp the idea that death meant victory. My body could not feel the wild rush and mad thrill of the hunt he so vividly described. I was still a child, and for that, I think he was bitterly disappointed.

I almost want to smile again, but I can no longer force myself to do anything but breathe -even that exercise was becoming a struggle- and I can feel my thoughts wandering. I had been trying to remember our first meeting, but here I was thinking instead of my Master. Still, to some degree... You could consider the two related.

The birds he gave me were delightful creatures, and I bought tiny bits of his praise each time I found ways to exploit their powers a little more. It had taken me less than a year to raise them beyond what the Master could ever have imagined, and I grew so attached to them, the sign that someone loved me, that all my work was run through them, all my experiments involved their terrifying power, all my days were spent in their company. And that was why, on that dreary spring morning, against the Master's orders, I opened my bedroom window and did something incredibly childish. It is strange how everything else seems dark in my mind, but this moment tugs at my memory as if I am still there. My heart is racing as I duck past his bedroom window, though in truth it is softly slowing. My breaths come quick and nervous as I hear him hiss out some complaint or another. His door slams, and knowing he gone, most likely into the ancient library, I sprint toward the trees.

I can even remember the young, mischievous smile alight on my face as I caught up to the birds. They'd been anxious for days, and had been more than willing to stretch their wings. But that day wasn't meant for play. That was the day I meant to test my newest creation. The trial of course, would have to be held away from castle. My Master would have never approved of something that took the "thrill" out of killing. Though I didn't know it then, my newest creation, the "Death Seed," was the first step down the dark and bloody path he had tried so hard to teach me. I did not think of it this way. Indeed, I saw it only as a course around the inevitable. The Master would see the death he desired, and I would receive his praise without having to sully my hands. There was a time so long ago that the sight of blood repulsed me.

I should have realized that something was not right immediately. The forest had been too silent; the air too still. I could not find a single moving creature—youkai or human alike. To say I was extremely frustrated, though at that time I was learning to curb my temper, would not have been an understatement. I was going to return to the castle if I had not suddenly heard the most interesting of sounds. It wasn't until many years later that it registered in my mind: those pitiful wails so stirred with rage and pain... They must have been your own. It wasn't until I was nearly upon it that I noticed I was near the human village. I must admit, I never understood humans. Less than a mile from a youkai castle, they built their homes. Did they enjoy being slaughtered?

I brushed aside a shrub easily and starred blankly at the scene before me. Your acrimonious screams of hatred rung in my ears, and I can still smell the scent of human blood, rampant in the air.

"Thief!"

"Bastard!"

"Pickpocket!" Masses of humans were shouting at the top of their overly loud lungs. The Death Seeds were trapped in my palm, long forgotten. My attention was at that time curiously locked on the people. The center of their mob had been a writhing mass of young men, fists and feet flying in every direction, trying to hold down something that already smelled like pain. The humans had pressed closer and closer into the circle, and looked like paintings of fish from my books on the Arinain Sea. Suddenly the boys had stood up, grasping tightly onto the form of a much smaller, struggling human child.

My first glimpse of you was… shocking to say the least. As a youkai, I had seen things that humans could never stand. I had seen death, heh, I had caused it. But I had never seen anything like this. Even my mind, talented in a science that involved killing my own kind, was floored by the show of human brutality toward one of their children. There was not an inch of your body that was not blackened by bruises, lacerated by rips that shone down to white bone, smeared with blood and dirt. Your hair was ripped, matted from the abuse you had suffered. Your emerald eyes were clouded with agony and antipathy. Under the grime, your rags had been frayed, ripped, stained; the indiscernible cloth hung limply off your emaciated form.

That moment... For the first time in my young life, I had come close to _feeling_. Now that I look back, I suppose it was that moment I realized, inadvertently, that youkai could feel, could experience emotion as deeply as humans. It was a realization that buried itself in the back of my mind for years, resurfacing as fear and worry and occasionally, grief. Yet, I don't think it was your unloved appearance that made me act. It must have been your words.

"I hate you!" You were screaming. "I hate you all!" You were still struggling against your captors' holds, even when I knew you could not stand on your own. I had been very curious. How could such a small child contain so much loathing? I used that as my excuse, though truthfully, I wanted to put an ending to their savageness.

The first three Death Seeds struck truth, felling their targets instantly. A part of me was delighted that my work had been a success. People had turned around; glancing shocked between their dead comrades and myself. Several more collapsed, expired on the dirt road, before the people moved at all. There wasn't mass panic as I had suspected. No, they backed away slowly, uncertainly. It had been too fast for them; they had not seen the Death Seeds that struck down their friends.

I've always remembered that shocked humans have the most ridiculous expressions on their faces, even when standing next to their doom. The people stepped back from me, forming an absurd little pathway straight to their victim. The boys perhaps were the first to run, leaving you in a pitiful raging heap on the ground. Avoiding tiny fists and blistered feet I gathered you up and left the aghast men and women behind. You ignored me even as I held you, and turned to yell violently from beneath my arm,

"I hate all of you! I hate all you humans! I want you to just die! I want to kill you!" We had barely lost sight of the village when your uproar faded into quiet sobs (you later assured me it was only from pain) and mumbled death threats.

The full force of what I had done did not hit me until I came in sight of the castle walls. What was I supposed to do with you! I could not very well waltz right into the Master's domain with a human in my arms! It was also that moment you chose to notice just who had carried you away.

"Youkai?" You asked me, though it was more of a statement than a question. I nodded vagrantly, wondering what your reaction would be. "If you're going to eat me, get it over with." Your voice, even hoarse from screaming, had a toughness that did not match your broken state. I think there might have been a smile on my face as I replied,

"If I intended to eat you, I would not have come all this way." You stared suspiciously at me for a second.

"Then what are you going to do with me?" Snappish, like an oversized wasp. There must have been a visible cringe on my face. What was I going to do? It certainly was a good question…

You've stopped calling for now. I hear them whispering amongst each other, but I can't make out a word. I wonder… If I had chosen a different option, made a different decision about your fate… Would we still be here now?

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Author's Notes: Yet again, I find myself writing this rather late at night. I just never stop! You know, this story is really hard to write. The style of writing is a lot more different than my own. Oh! Hehehe... I had the weirdest idea for a fanfiction the other night. But I won't tell you, just in case I end up using it. I told my best friend the idea and she said, "That would be... awkward," with the strangest look on her face. I'm not sure if it was delight or contemplation.. Anyways, what did you think? Next chapter, I promise you'll get to see the normal carnage-loving Kharl. I'm having loads of fun with this story though. Today, the guy I'm really into picked up the handwritten copy of this chapter (in my composition book) and thought it was journal. Needless to say, he looked at me funny until I explained it was a story. Then he looked at me funny again when I explained it was a story from a GUY'S point of view. Heh heh heh...

It's past midnight, so I won't do review responses today. Still, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed:  
Kuroya  
Akira-of-the-Demons  
Kawaii ningen kitsune  
Shadowwolf-chan the **Kharl** fan (Your name rocks)  
Kitsune  
DarkIlluzer  
snakespirit  
TurtleChan  
Kit  
bearmoon  
**Thanks so much!**

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	3. My Little Secret

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Author's Notes: Meine Lieblings—willkommen züruck zu meinem geschicte! That means, quite plainly: My loved-ones, welcome back to my story! As you can see, I'm in such a German mood. I just got back from Germany, where I wrote this chapter. Anyways, some notes: The entire story is written to Garfakcy. Unless further noticed, Garfakcy is the not-so-mysterious "you." That's about it... Enjoy and review please!

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Disclaimer: If I owned them: Bierrez would give up on Cesia, Gil would be married to Raam, Delte would be evil (and in-league with Kharl—don't ask, it's an inside joke..), every Friday Garfakcy would wear a pink dress, Rath would like Kharl on principal, Right Bird would be a girl, Shyrendora would have a secret love for Ruwalk (don't ask about that one either). I'm crazy, and I **_obviously_** don't own them.

Background Music: Field of Innocence (_Evanescence_)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Three-_  
My Little Secret

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I've lost track of their comings and goings. I've lost track of the deaths in their beloved castle, though I myself held the hand of one dead Dragon. They say it is wiser to know one's enemies then to know one's self, but see where that has gotten me—too disgraceful to be youkai, too impure to be anything else.

I have heard humans say that before they die, their lives flash before their eyes. It is the same for youkai, I now see, but the memories come not as swift and painless flashes, but as agonizingly slow and venomous visions, visions that seem to make the time between first pain and death an eternity. As if an immortal life in the bowels of Hell is not enough torture, the memories return with twice the agony and emotion as when they were truly new. I suppose that is the price for one who has lived his life drenched in blood, regardless of the circumstances of his death... I don't imagine you can hear this, or would understand if you could, but this pain has finally cleared my mind of hatred and misconception. For the first time in hundreds of years, I really, truly understand everything—about me, about them, about him, and about you.

What I have always loved most in you (and despised most) was your unending admiration. Despite my faults, my failures (masked so well), you maintained that unshakable faith of yours. I should never have been surprised at this. After all, you were becoming exactly what I had been: a child so eager to learn... to be loved. And I was becoming—I became something so different.

That day, the day I found you, was the day of my death. No, not the true death I am falling into now, but the death of the person I was—the death of who I had been up until then. You were lying so calmly in my arms, slipping in and out of consciousness. I was puzzled by your dull acceptance of the situation, and your willingness to sleep unaware of who you were with, or what might be done. In truth, I don't think it was acceptance that drove you into slumber. There was simply no fight left in your little body. So I sat in the forest, half between a human village and the castle of my demonic master, midnight shapes of the birds framing my shoulders like sable wings, and the crimson form of a child in my lap... What a picture I made!

There amid the black barked trees, I was watching your life drain away like scarlet tide, watching you shiver with each harshly drawn breath. You had lost too much blood, born too much pain I thought. I worried, with the cold, the freshly flowing cuts, the ragged sound of liquid in your lungs, you wouldn't live much longer on your own. Why... Why did that bother me? Why had I done any of that, that rescue? What purpose had it served? A test of my Death Seed I tried to convince myself. But then why? What had possessed me to carry you away from them as if I owned you? At that moment, I couldn't understand why I had done something so impeccably... stupid.

Years later, after having learned so much from you, I understand that day to be a breath of compassion. Even now, the word seems strange when linked to me. Compassion... It was what brought me to you, and also what has landed me here—in a crumpled heap on the floor of a tower I once desired to rule. But, it is hardly in vain, my agony. You're alive, he is alive (something that has been so hard to guarantee other the years), and both of you are in Dragon hands. I don't know whether to count that fact as a blessing or a curse. I don't believe they will harm you, but you did mark them as enemies. I wish my fading mind would let me think of your present, your future, but it keeps dragging me back, to my past... Our past.

What was I to do with you? The question repeated rather unhelpfully in my mind as you slept limply in my hold. Leaving you to die would have been easiest, or easier (on the mind) would have been to end your life myself. But I couldn't imagine simply leaving you alone here. I almost saw your weary, bloody emerald eyes filling with contempt and hatred once more as you glared at my disappearing form. The vision was bitterly realistic, and I found myself hoping never to become the object of such hatred. Worse even then leaving you was the thought of combating your fiery spirit with the quick and quiet Death Seed. I hardly knew you, but I already knew it didn't you suit to die that manner. But the only other way I could be rid of you was to take your life with my own hands... Instantly, the thought of your already mutilated flesh being rent by my claws brought on a horrible wave of nausea that had made me convulse around your form unwillingly. No, I couldn't kill you. I couldn't abandon you. You were too much like me. It was too easy to dye your emerald eyes pale blue; to make your pain clenched face into my own. You were too full of life to die.

But... What choice did that leave me? If I took you back to the humans' village, I had no doubt they would have found some way to blame you for the death of their comrades, and would have enjoyed ending your fast fading life. But... To return with you to the Master's castle was impossible. Death, or worse, torture would await you there, regardless of anything I might say to the Master. I couldn't fathom disobeying him, or standing against his wishes in anyway, and he would have wanted to have fun. How could I have faced him with you in my arms and still have expected him to love me—me, the demon he had trained to view all humans as things to toy with, to regard as less than insects...

If only there was someway he didn't have to know! If only... I could... hide you. I could keep you safe from him. Like... a secret. The idea took hold in my mind instantly, as the idea of keeping something hidden does in all children's minds. Quite rapidly, you became an entrancing secret to hide from my Master. Not to disobey, for I loved him dearly, but to keep you safe, and to feel the thrill of keeping my first REAL secret! A living, breathing object to hide, one that I knew nothing about... There was another entertaining thought: What would my secret be like when he awoke? What would you live like, talk like? That was unknown to me, and just as difficult alchemy problems could absorb my entire mind, I was quickly becoming determined to know everything about you, to unravel all the secrets inside the secret I would keep. Really, I began to see your rescue as something of an opportunity, an opportunity to study something I never had before. I had mastered alchemy, excelled in magic. I had learned all there was to blood and death. But I never thought to study life.

With a new passion I gathered you gently, like something breakable by the slightest touch, and strode in a brisk little pace toward the Master's castle. I could easily climb back into my window, even with you in my hold, and find some place to tuck you away while I found bandages for your wounds and figured out how to mask your scent. This is what I intended to do, but, as often occurs, my plan was ruined. Damned, because the first thing that hit me as I came in view of the castle was the heavy and familiar scent of blood. Human blood, and to my horror, demon blood. All thoughts of secrecy and sneaking were driven out of my mind by a chorus of raucous human laughter. Shifting your limp form in my arms, I threw open the main door as if it was a feather, not solid wood and metal.

I have always remembered the scene that lay beyond those doors. For the first time, my blood ran cold at the sight of humans. The room was a sea of crimson, demon and human bloods pooling to become one great tarn of scarlet… And in the center, impaled by a gleaming gold sword, was the man I adored, learned from, killed for.

"MASTER!" It was my last act as a child, that pitiful cry. Even though these are only visions, memories of past events, I can still feel the flame of hatred I felt that day, and it burns again just as brightly. I looked into the eyes of the man standing over my Master, and I had felt for first time that fabled desire—the desire to hunt, to trap, to torture, to kill slowly and agonizingly. I set you down gently, so calmly, actions not reflecting the flame, the thrill of murder burning inside. My heart beat so loudly in my ears that it drowned out the sounds of many human voices, cursing or shouting what they would. The moments after this gentle release of you come to my failing body only as flashes of dying men, piercing screams and streams of blood that rent the air like vermilion raindrops. What does come to me clearly now is him, the Arinain King. The man so loathed by my Master, the man I was taught to hate, as all demons were. That was a lesson I hardly needed to learn. Deeper than anything I had ever felt before, a blood-thirsty hatred was coursing through my veins, consuming my rational mind and bending my body to its will.

And more than all else, it wanted to see that man dead. I should have realized, at the time, I had little chance of defeating a person so skilled in the destruction of demons, a master of the sword, and the crafter, as I later learned, of Diolasis, Lakiayta, and Salbacion—the three treasures. As I drove back his magic, his sword, and even his fists, I knew I could not win. But to die in this battle would mean his victory, his escape. If I could not win, I would not let him walk away unscathed from the murder of my Master. I summoned a spell from the depths of my knowledge, gleaned from an archaic magical tome, and separated the Arinain King from the power that made up much of his strength: The life-spirit of Arinas.

This effort and the effort it took to keep that power in my hold left me defenseless—drained and weary. I might have died at his hands that night, but he was weakened enough by the loss of the spirit to reluctantly flee. It is no safe place to be within a demonic castle, not knowing how many other youkai might reside there, and being worn to near fainting by the loss of something that might greatly affect one's country. I could barely lock the Arinain essence within myself, and I knew I couldn't allow it to remain there for long—its pure light was corrosive to the dark demon soul.

Almost unable to keep conscious, I dragged myself to you, the only other living being in midst of a blood-bath. That should have been a sign to me. My first thought after the battle was not the fallen Master I loved so much, my first thought was not to bury or rid the hall of the dead—it was to remove you from the room. Not to keep you from seeing the carnage, I could not have cared less about that. No, it was not to keep you from seeing the mess. It was to keep your slowly clotting blood from mixing with the blood of my victims. I would not -could not- even in the violent mindset I was in, allow you to appear a victim of my cruelty, or let your flesh be painted with the blood of my enemies...

No... I would never let you be marked as such, my little secret.

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Author's Notes: Okay, whattcha think? Weird, right? But now Kharl gets to be normal, and not so cute and innocent like he was in the first two chapters. I wrote this one on the plane to Germany, and typed it on my host family's computer. I hope you liked it. If it's confusing, keep in mind that he's dying.. If his thought pattern was perfect, he wouldn't realistically be dying right? Anyways, book 14 is cute, huh? But I DON'T like how they made him cuss! KHARL DOESN'T CUSS! In the Japanese version of the sandwich scene, he doesn't cuss. Stupid Tokyopop.. Hey, guess what! Kharl fans rejoice.. I'm such a fangirl, I named the new kitten I just got, Kharl. He's a cute lil' Siamese, but he is evil! He slunk into my room last night, climbed up onto to my head and started knitting on my face. He even kinda looks like Kharl- Pale blue eyes, puffy white (Kharl's is lilac-white) hair... He's adorable, and friendly to our dog, which get this, everyone in my family calls "Garfakcy." So we have a cat named Kharl who loves the dog named Garfakcy.. (Okay, the dog's real name is Dude, but everyone I know calls him Garfakcy cause he's such a naughty puppy.) Oh well.. Anyways, review, please!

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Review Responses:

**Kawaii Ningen Kitsune:** Thanks so much for the compliment. I think I emailed you about the picture, but if I didn't, you have to pay for it.. T.T Anyways, review again and stay kawaii!  
**Aquajogger:** I just got back from Germany! whoop It was fun! Are you still there? Where are you now? Anyways, thanks for the wonderful compliments, I love 'em!  
**snakespirit:** Sadly yes, this story is bound to be confusing and lack dialouge.. It's a thought fic, so there will be little-to-no dialouge.. Oh wait.. They maybe some, but it's all in his memories... And it's bound to be confusing because of the tense I wrote it in (Present and Past Perfect) and the fact that he's dying and his thoughts are all over the place. Anyways, thanks for the compliments, and write some new stories soon okay?  
**Rurouni Chaos:** First of all, your story is NOOOOT crappy, I loved it! I love, love, love the Viarres/Cesia pairing- It's so tragically beautiful! Rath is okay too.. About the glitch.. You're right. I meant to write last chapter that the entire story is written TO Garfakcy... Until the very last chapter. Which I will NOT tell you anything about. Okay, don't I feel like such an AWESOME Gar-chan fangirl: In book four, in three panels, Garfakcy has a glaive made from ash. In the first panel you can't really see it (he's summoning it).. In the next it's being de-summoned, so it's sheer, and in the third panel, Cesia's wind power destroys it, and you only see the broken form dissolving. But I feel so good about my Garfakcy knowledge now- Wee! Anyways, thanks for the cool compliments, and write more to I can read it and review it!  
**Zarame**: Thanks for the compliments! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

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	4. Kharl, the Alchemist

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Author's Notes: Anyway, I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter, I've actually had this chapter completed for almost a month now, but I've been busy with summer reading crap, and then my computer.. Well, you can find out why it took me so long at the bottom. This chapter contains a -dun dun dum- spoiler! But it's a tiny-minny one, so you needn't worry. The spoiler is that Kharl alters Garfakcy's form- The way he appears in the manga isn't the way he used to be. So in this chapter, Kharl messes with Garfakcy's look. Whoo. All right, go ahead and read- I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer:  
The day all seven hells freeze over I'll own Kharl.  
I checked this morning, and guess what? Hell's still hot.

Background Music: Sunshine (Keane)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Four-_  
Kharl, the Alchemist

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I think they are waiting. Maybe they are making up their minds—to kill me now and "end" my suffering, or to leave me as I am, waiting for every drop of blood to drain from my veins. Ha. Suffering here or after death, it makes no difference. There's sunlight through the windows, but it is the sunlight of Kainaldia, red-purple, like the bruises that marred your flesh that day...

It was ironically, the Master's bed I laid you in. I should have forced myself farther after that, but in the end, I fell unconscious beside the mattress, the effort to remain awake simply too much. When I did awaken, several hours later, I laid still for sometime, trying to get a grasp on everything that had happened in the course of the day. The Master was gone. Gone. Gone. Gone! That one thought pounded in my head, over and over, again and again. He was dead. My savior, the one who had taught me everything, the only one in my life to offer me a kind word… He was dead, and I was alone once more, left only with his castle and his corpse.

If I had not unconsciously given up on my childish mind, I might have wasted away pining for his return. But in the moments when I first desired to kill, I had become an adult, a person so different from the youth I appeared to be. It was this blood-thirsty, analytical, grown mind that governed my actions then when I awoke on the floor in the Master's room, and for the days I slept after that awakening. And it only during that sleep that I, myself, the personality I had previously been, could imprison the newly-born heartless nature deep within, a barely controlled monster lurking beneath a child-like visage. Hidden inside the eager-for-praise, unknowing genius was the dark creature, one whose only passions were destruction and death. All of my life since that day has been a double existence, a youkai both evil and innocent, relishing blood, but desiring the simple beauty of a flower garden. Sometimes I wonder if I could have lived any other way. I gave up on laying beside the master's bed, freshly matured mind realizing that it was only wasting time, that there were bodies to burn, and you to deal with…

First the bodies of the humans. The mental-man that was born of my murderous lust wanted to lose no time by burying them, even in shallow graves for the wolves to consume at will. Oh no, the youkai at that moment wanted to devour them, a fitting action to defile the dead. Only the remnants of my child's nature, fighting to the surface for a bare second, kept me from sinking my fangs into cold meat and ripping it to shreds. The moment that matured youkai raised the dead flesh to my lips, I wretched unwillingly; emptying the contents of my stomach and losing my hold on the already corroding spell that kept the Arinain life-spirit my prisoner.

Immediately the ball of light sped off, intent on joining once more with its master. Knowing all to well that losing the spirit could mean the loss of my revenge, I followed it rapidly though the great halls as it searched for an exit. It was my instinct, not speed, which eventually halted it—I drew on what I had at the time: Ashes from a fireplace in a room off the corridor. A random creation spell, though cast wrong (it was meant to be a net), served its purpose, and the spear it formed pierced the spirit, effectively trapping the power. Wearily, drawing on the last of the power that had been returned in the hours of my rest, I completed seals that would keep the spirit there for hundreds of years. Weak once more, my child's body might have given out, even being a youkai, but my mind would not allow this, and so I dragged myself to the body of my master.

The words for Last Rites sprung unbidden from my lips. What blasphemy! A pray for forgiveness over one of Hell's demons, spoken by another of the like! I think the master might have enjoyed that sacrilegious act, though it was not from him that I had learned the passages. It was before him... Is it also a blasphemous act to toss away a bible? Indeed, I found it among the rubbish of a human village, and it was not long before I had read it cover to cover. I kept it with me even after the Master had taken me in. If he knew or cared, he said nothing to me. After all, what demon would believe in a human's "God"?

_"Ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."_

The words were barely whispers on my lips and when they were finished the child's body of mine longed so deeply to give in to lie down beside the master and shut my eyes forever. Again, the man that had been born in me that day crushed the desire and lifted the corpse into my arms. The master's body, drained of blood, had almost too light and all too easily, I bore his corpse to a walled square outside the castle devoid of anything but dirt for a floor and stone for a fence. That day I dug the first and only grave I have ever dug. My fingers under delicately pointed claws ran with my own blood, skin rubbed raw by earth and granite.

It seemed like hours I stood by the newly covered grave, but it was probably only minutes. When I stumbled into the castle once more, I could hardly see straight, candid fatigue sinking its teeth into me. Dried blood cracked and flaked beneath my feet and haphazardly fallen limbs seemed to grasp at my ankles. How far my comforting room seemed then! When I did collapse into my bed, I knew the sleep that forcefully bit at my eyes would last days, and though I didn't want that, my mind could hold out no longer.

_"...I will fear no evil..."_

By the time I awoke (three days later, I learned from you) two things made themselves apparent. First was the fact that the blood-thirsty man I became the day of my master's death no longer controlled my mind. The child and man had now become one person, the person I was at the moment of that waking, the demon I was to be for the rest of my life. At that time I hardly understood this sudden melding of monster and innocent, and the feelings of bitterness and cheerfulness seemed like one emotion in my mind.

The next thing to reach my sleep ridden senses was heavy scent of fire and flesh-aflame. Sluggishly, I clambered out of bed and, half-awake, pulled myself to the window. Just off of the front walk, a tremendous pyre was burning merrily, consuming its fodder -human corpses- rapidly. That was enough to rinse the unconsciousness from my eyes. I hadn't lit that fire, and humans (at least those who were not hunting youkai) knew never to stray so far into the forest. Curiosity replaced fatigue, and I left the bedroom quickly and silently. Delicate noises, the kind that would have been inaudible to most, shrieked in the silence that assuaged my ears. Among the sound of muffled footsteps, skillful movement and the creak of wooden floorboards was the soft and labored sound of breathing. I moved down the stairs like a wraith, white cloak soundlessly fluttering along the steps. It was far from difficult to trace the noises the entrance hall. I hesitated for a moment, curiosity heightening into an anxious apprehension. Who could be in the mast—in my castle? My pause was only a second, and in the next I looked around the wall that blocked my view of the site where the Master died. Whatever I had expected, it certainly wasn't what I saw.

_"...for thou art with me."_

There you were, one of the sheets from the Master's bed wrapped about you like an apron, ragged flesh still marred by lacerations that seemed unwilling to heal and were (as I could smell) infected. And you sat there, using the other sheet to scrub splashes of blood from the now corpse-less floor. Where you, little battered human that you were, got the strength to even stand, I'll never know. I watched you mop for a long while, just watched your diminutive fingers run with from cuts reopened by the work. I stared from the doorway, fascinated by the way you ignored the pain that had to coursing along every inch of your tiny form. There was a fervent sort of passion in the way you labored, ears closed to everything but the near silent sound of wet rag against blood and floorboards.

The day might have gone on that way, me staring at the odd way you were cleaning, but the wooden bucket you had beside you ran out of water and you sat upright, wincing at the pain of abrasion-ridden skin and the crack of bone that had been bent over too long. Still cloudy emerald eyes met my own. There was a hollow silence between us. What do you say when you find a near dead human child cleaning the blood of his kin off a demon's floor? Then you wiped a bloody little hand across your forehead and barked hoarsely,

"This place is mess!" Yet another surprise, one I was hardly sure how to reply to.

"Hm." I offered quietly, partially agreement and partially acceptance of the situation. I could see you were aching to refill the bucket and finish what you'd started, but you were also reluctant to end the staring contest we'd unknowingly begun. In the end, I looked away, and you disappeared, limping to fetch more water. What was the matter with me? I could hardly bear looking at your torn and abused little face. At that moment, I was possessed by a feeling like emptiness, a kind of vacancy that gnawed at the pit of my stomach. This feeling, I learned from you years later, was guilt. If I had not gone out that day... If I had returned to the castle instead of going to the human village... If I had never found you, the Master might not be dead. The broken little body you wore, in essence stood for the child that caused me to sacrifice my Master.

When you stumbled back into the room, leaving scarlet footprints behind you, I realized I couldn't live with that feeling. I had to get rid of the memory, the trigger—your unhealing form. I could... change you, heal you... Just as you tried to reach for the sheet-rag, I caught your hand lightly, mirroring your wince. Unsure, surprised, suspicious, you stood and followed me, tiny bare feet trying to keep up with my own long stride. I knew my own small laboratory would not suit the magic required for such a spell and it certainly would not be a safe place for you. My only other choice was the Master's atelier. I'd been there many times, but only with him, and there were parts I had never seen... Still, as I pushed open the wide oak door, I tried hard to appear confident—like the master of the building, and not an apprentice who'd suddenly found himself in charge of a castle he barely knew...

The Master had been most meticulous in labeling chemicals, sealed spells and books, and it wasn't long before I was pulling useful (and less-than-useful) things off the shelves, leaving a horrid mess behind me. I had never been a neat person... In fact, it seemed that messes and household catastrophes followed wherever I went. Perhaps this habit had developed because I had never learned to clean up after myself. Before the Master I had simply left a mess behind in favor of a new sleeping place. In the castle, the Master's magical servants cared for our needs: cooking, cleaning, washing. But the Master's spells had died with him, and then there was no one to cater to me. Of course, you solved that problem nicely, but at that moment, neither one of us had been paying attention to the cleanliness of the room. I was engrossed in the task of find the proper materials, and you were undoubtedly wondering what sort of horrible experiments were about to be performed on you...

It must not have taken me very long to find the correct things, because I remember still being able to walk through the room without much trouble. I knelt down, bringing you almost to eye level, and cupped my hands around my mouth, whispered a spell that left them glittering a pale silver-blue, and ran my fingers through your matted hair. First I dragged slowly at the back repairing torn and bloody tresses and allowing it to become longer, glimmering claws drawing cobweb-like strands past your shoulder blades. My hands easily replaced tattered skin beneath the hairs with new follicles. Lastly, after restoring your abused mane, I allowed the magic to change its color from dull human brown to an intricate pattern of shading—a golden hue at the top, which darkened to honey, which in turn became a shade of black at the tips. I remember trying to read the look on your face at the time, when you realized your scalp was no longer in pain, when you realized that your bloodstained mop of knots had been replaced with clean, perfectly brushed hair. Of course, I could not place the emotion. You seemed, more than anything, confused. There was a slight lessening of pained expression, and perhaps a hint of forthcoming happiness in your verdant eyes.

I let the silver-aqua fire dissolve lightly in the air, choosing in its stead a pale red glass bottle. The little cruet contained a potion created by the Master to restore flesh. Generally it had been used to repair the skin of the Dead so that they could be resurrected to act as puppets or temporary servants. I was almost sure it would work just as well on living humans. Thankfully for you, I was not disappointed. Setting aside the ruby top, I tipped a single drop onto the tip of my finger, and brushing aside the sheet delicately, I pressed the droplet to the flesh above your heart, waiting on bated breath. It would work, wouldn't it? A pleasant smile swept across my face as I saw it sink into your skin, re-knitting muscle and arteries as it coursed through all your veins. A tiny and unpained grin formed on your cheeks, and for the first time I was greeted by clear green eyes, unglazed by anguish or anger.

I stopped the phial with its diamond shaped top and moved back a bit to look at you. Under the cuts, apparently, your skin had been a deep olive tan, and you had a pointy little chin and nose and wide, bright eyes. Even so baggy, I could clearly make out an emaciated form beneath the Master's sheet. I knew that would have to change. I certainly couldn't allow any specimen -at that time, that word seemed to describe you, after all, I had made a resolution to study everything about your human nature- I couldn't allow any enduring specimen of mine, even a very small human, to look starved or ill-treated. Creating illusion and healing were relatively easy magics. However, actually changing the form of a body was something I had never done before. Thankfully, the Master had kept wonderfully neat records of all his experiments, including those performed on humans. I was a bit wary of using his work, particularly since it pertained mostly to torture, but after looking through a few of his books on the subject, I was sure I could tailor a spell to fit. Like an invisible hound, the tightly woven hex raged through your body, hunting out undernourished and starving cells, strengthening muscle and filling out your frame to its very short potential.

That done, I moved to change the last bit of you—your eyes. But when I met your emerald gaze, I could not bring myself to alter it. Who was I to change the delicate forest-deep stare that nature had given you? Despite the fact that those green orbs might have then kept alight the minute flame of guilt within me, my hands would not move to change them. I seemingly had no choice then: I let those viridian pools of emotion remain. A reminder of the child I had unknowingly chosen over my Master.

Looking at you then, it seemed as if I were facing a very different juvenile than the half-alive body I had saved. You were looking at me with the oddest expression, and I know you wanted to ask, 'Why did you do that?' However, another worthy question escaped you first:

"Who are you?" You asked, voice unsure, and completely unlike the hate-choked utterance I first heard from you. I had not expected the question, and I found myself lost for words. Who was I? Of all the things I could have said -should have said- I choose the simplest, and the worst:

"I am Kharl... the alchemist."

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Author's Notes: Whoo! Oh my gods, it's FINALLY typed! (Party, party!) Okay, happy day! Anyway (whoa… rhyme.) I'm feeling great now, because I've FINALLY gotten this typed. You won't believe me when I tell you how hard it was. The world was against me getting this chapter typed! My computer crashed about 50 million times while I was typing, making me lose the typing I'd done (once I lost the ENTIRE thing) every two seconds. By the 100th or so time it crashed, I was saving after every other sentence. In between these losses, my kitten (whose name is Kharl, ironic no?) came and sat on my notebook, chewed on the corners and my headphones cord, effectively slowing my typing to a crawl.

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Review Responses:

**Snakespirit:** Thanks for the compliments. Actually, last chapter was my own take on the Kharl's Master situation, based on the five second discussion in book 8. As for wanting to be a writer… No, I actually want to be a Creative Writing teacher. Either way, writing is my passion. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
**Aquajogger:** So, how was your flight coming home? Long haul, I know. I thought about naming my kitten Gil, but it just seems too matching. So it was down to Viarres and Kharl, and my family liked Kharl better. I loved your email about the elvish names! Makes me wonder if Mineko might like Tolkien. I hope you liked this chapter… I think it could have been better.  
**Stary Angel1:** Ooh! Praise is not good for my ego! But thank you, so much. I like writing from Kharl's point of view, it's entertaining! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and will continue enjoying this story till its end.  
**Yami-chan and Unrealistic:** Yes, angst is VERY good. And yep- The story is going to go right up to Kharl's death, and maybe a tiny bit afterward too, but I'm not telling you about that! I hope you liked this chapter. I put a lot of work into it!  
**Kuroya:** Dankeschön! Danke, danke danke! Thank you, thank you! You're WAY to nice. My writing is crappy. I'm sure there are about a billion other people who could write Kharl lots better, but your compliments are so nice. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you'll keep reading the future chapters- I started chapter five, and I really like how it's going so far.

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	5. The Sound of Laughter

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Author's Notes: Whoo, an update on-time, at long last. I think I'm really falling in love with story. You see, this is the first 1st person fanfiction I've EVER written, and I'm really enjoying it. Don't expect any more though—1st person is hard! I hope this chapter isn't OOC. I tried really hard to keep it in character while still managed to keep true to the way Kharl reacts to Garfakcy. Garfuaakie. Garffaaakccceee. Garufuhaki. Sorry, that's sorta something you have to read the chapter to understand. Mew! Hee hee.. Kharl (my kitten) is chewing on my notebook. Hey, guess what? I'm such an obsessed Dragon Knights fan... We got some fish for our new pond today, and I named them Varawoo and Garaba. I have no life. . I'm listening to Josh Groban.. Man I love his voice. Anyway, there're NO spoilers in this chapter. In fact... Half this chapter is thoughts on emotions. There won't be any spoilers for a long time. Yay, for all you non-spoiler fans.

Disclaimer: Kharl is so totally mine. Please don't expect any updates very soon, as I believe a lawsuit is about to come my way…

Background Music: Lost Heaven (L' ArcenCiel)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Five-_  
The Sound of Laughter

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Many times I've wondered which is more difficult: introductions or farewells. Indeed, humans find it infinitely hard to say good-bye to the ones they love; I've seen it hundreds of times. But for demons? A parting of ways, of thoughts, of partnership, be it momentarily or forever, is unwelcome but easily forgotten. After all, few demons develop true "loved ones".

In all the time I have spent in this world, I have only met a few of those—those youkai whose lives are riddled with and run by emotion. Many I have broken and used for my own ends. And if I didn't use them? I watched their feelings drive them into madness, into isolation, into suicide. Never, in all my life, had I counted myself among them... Until today. Can I still call it today? It seems like an eternity has passed since—yes, it is still the same day, it must be.

How could I, who had devoted my life to seeing all, have been so blind? I knew everything about the Dragon tribe. I knew the movement of every youkai in Nadil's army, but... I did not know myself. I did not understand -no, I chose to ignore- the human feelings that I felt each day. I call them human feelings, but are they? I can hate as well as any human, I can become jealous, I can crumble under guilt... I can love. So can I call them youkai feelings?

If I had the strength, I would have laughed. One cannot call them youkai feelings. But to give them only to the humans? Faeries do not feel? No, you cannot give a feeling to one species—they are just that, feelings, no matter by whom they are felt. A youkai has as much right to care as a human, if they can, if they will. Hnh. I'm only trying to justify myself, and it's wrong. Youkai, murders that we are, have no right to care, no right to love.

And here I have come full circle with the thought. The emotions I feel now, have always felt to some degree... Are these feelings a curse, or a blessing? There is an answer to that question resting on the tip of my tongue, but what that answer is, even I do not know. In so many ways, a youkai in my place would call them a curse. After all, they were what led me here, to Death's doorstep. But if I had never felt at all? You would be dead, and he... _He_ wouldn't be even a fleeting thought. I would never have smiled. I would never have loved... I would have been alone: alive now, but alone. It is hard to even imagine my life without you. And to think so long ago, I'd taken you in without knowing your name.

There are a thousand and one thoughts that flit through my tousled mind as I recall our first days together. What comes back to me most intensely is the sound of laughter. Quiet, reserved laughter, but laughter none the less. You see, humans had always been to me a species of fools and foul smells. No—they had been less. They had been prey, weak, uninteresting prey that smelt of greed and violence. I am one to talk aren't I? If violence was a pungent odor, I would reek of it. But no, violence is a calm, almost unnoticeable scent, the sort of smell that dances along the senses without lingering long enough to be fully acknowledged. For many years that had been my opinion (based highly on the Master's own) of humans: They were petty creatures whose lives were run by passion and fear. Taking you in, I expected to observe an array of primal emotions. I never expected to observe a personality. Maybe I believed humans lacked those things, or maybe I thought I alone was complex enough to possess a character. If you had known my expectations of humans back then, maybe my surprise would have made more sense to you. As it stood, I think you thought I was mentally unstable. I remember that day so clearly, I can almost smell the curiosity again.

"I am Kharl... the Alchemist." The words came softly and slowly to my lips, unsure from lack of use. Yes, that was my name. It sounded so strange to my ears—I hadn't heard my own name in more years than I could count. The last time that word, Kharl, was spoken out loud was the day my Master took me in. He had asked what I was called, and I had told him proudly. But he never used it. Not once, in all our years together, did the Master use my name. I had gotten so terribly used to answering to "Boy!" or "You!" that my own name seemed awkward and overly long. But I don't suppose I could have asked you call me "boy".

Your face, hearing my name was... interesting. You seemed contemplative, like you were storing the words away in the safest part of your mind—something to remember for all time. There was another silence as I waited soundlessly to hear your reply. When I realized you were not going to offer me your own name, I surprised myself by smiling and querying almost playfully,

"Am I to presume that humans do not even give each other names?" Your expression! I felt something tiny bubbling up inside me, something indescribable; something I had never felt before.

"You want to know my name?" If I was prone to rolling my eyes, I would have done so.

"So then you do have one." I was taken aback by my own mischievous reply. Had I really said that? Was it really me smiling? I couldn't understand why I was so... happy? That moment, that day was the first time I ever truly enjoyed myself. I didn't know it then, but it was the beginning of a time in my life that I would begin to find enjoyment in the simplest things. I suppose I could blame that on you. Just having your little human-self about managed to, unwittingly, change me.

"Garfakcy. Just Garfakcy." You bit, and I... I did something I had never done before... I laughed. Not a sinister snicker, but a _laugh_, a cheerful and completely unexpected thing. And once I had started, I couldn't stop. I chuckled until I was red in the face, leaving you standing there, looking more and more mad by the second. "Laugh all ya' like." You snapped, effectively ending my gale of giggles.

"Forgive me," I coughed, trying my best to regain the precious breath my laugher had lost me, "It's not funny. It's only... Gar-fu-aki, Garf-aki, Ga-rfa-ki, Gaaaruuufakcy... It's fun to play with." My explanation didn't seem to make you any less angry. "Well.. Garfakcy, Garfaaaakcy, Gar-fa-aki- I'm sorry, Garfakcy, what am I to do with you?"

"What?" There was that look again! I almost started giggling once more. Your face, those overly bright green eyes, even your name... Just too much!

"Human hearing is truly that awful?" The calm in my voice was completed fabricated. Beneath the exterior that had suddenly become well composed and normal (for me), I was almost hysterical with shock. I remember wondering: Was every day to be like this? Would every day be as silly as this one was shaping up to be? Would I find more things about you that seemed to force laughter and smiles from me? Who was this eager to grin man that had control over my body? Me?

"I heard you!" My, my, so much pride. "But what the hell," What language, from such a small child! "Do you mean?" Put on edge, I admitted (almost sheepishly),

"I suppose a question like that requires the truth. I am not quite sure what to do with you. I did not go the human village intending to bring home a human." You were quiet in answer, wondering, much like I was, what the eventual outcome would be. "However, now that you are here, and will be staying here-"

"Staying here?" You cut me off, but not in the barky and prideful voice you usually used.

"You would rather be in the human village?"

"NO!" Your answer was what I expected, though much louder.

"Then here is the only possible place for you stay, unless you think the woods more suitable?"

"No, but-" You stopped when you realized I wasn't really listening anymore. I was on my feet, trying to judge your size. Did we have enough cloth here in the castle to make clothes for you? Could I even make clothes? You certainly couldn't live in a sheet for the rest of your life! But it wasn't as if I could walk into the house of a seamstress and demand an outfit.

"Hey.." You almost shouted, vying for my attention.

"Hm?"

"When you say staying here… Do you mean like a... home?" The tone in your voice made something in the region of my heart tug gently. They way you said that word, home… Your voice was quiet, uncertain, sounding childish for the first time since I had met you.

"Yes." I returned, voice trapped in the quiet of the room. "A home."

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Author's Notes: Whoo, it's done. Again, sorry for it being so short, that just seemed like a good point to leave it at. Anyway, what did you think of this chapter? I actually REALLY liked it. I love writing Kharl's POV... Even when he's being sadistic. XD What am I saying, that's my favorite Kharl. I just noticed, I am seriously making our poor angel sound like he has split personality. Don't worry, I'm not going to start claiming that he does—he just has very conflicting emotions. Wow… This story is going to be seriously long. I have GOT to make the chapters longer so that this story doesn't drag on so long. 'Cause I still gotta tell everything about Rath. If there is anything I like about Dragon Knights, it's the relationship between Kharl and Rath (not that way!) I absolutely love the tragic air that hangs about it. You can guess that this story is going to talk ALL about the events that led up to Rath's creation and then what happened afterward. (Happy sigh)

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Review Responses:

**aquajogger:** I'm sorry about your pencil case, and about the spoiler. The good news is, the story won't contain any more spoilers for a LONG time. By the time I reach the chapters with the spoilers, they won't be spoilers any more. .' Anyways, thanks for reviewing, I also like Chapter 4, but I liked this one better... What do you think?  
**Yami-Chan and Unrealistic:** I'm sorry! humble bow I know it took me forever to update, but between the losses on my computer, and the death of my Grandfather, and coming home from Germany, and having to do my summer reading for school.. I'm horribly busy. But this update came soon enough, right? Anyways, thanks so much for reading, and reviewing, and as for the Rune story, I'm going to start it very soon.. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

That was all... Please, please, please review! Pretty please?

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	6. Inquisition and Memory

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Author's Notes: Ugh… I am so sorry you guys. Wagh… I haven't written in ages! I've been so incredibly busy. I've been working on cleaning my grandparents' house out (my grandfather died), and taking care of my schoolwork. For once, I have decent grades! Yay! Anyway, I'm sorry it took so long. This chapter was so hard to write! The awkwardness... I promise the little awkwardness that has developed between the two is about to be alleviated. The next chapter is going to a weird write—involving pink aprons, and Garfakcy's first time using Kharl's name. Lots of fun. Until I get around to that, enjoy this chapter and its odd pearls of wisdom. PS: I hope Garfakcy isn't OOC. I tried really hard to keep him IC, although I leaned on his snappy, temperamental nature. Well, read on!

Disclaimer:  
If I owned Kharl and Garfakcy, they'd be in the story A LOT more. In fact, they might just be THE story…

Background Music: Mystiline (Samurai Champloo)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Six-_  
Inquisition and Memory 

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Those words, _Yes, a home_, may have been the most compassionate thing I have ever said. If it was a moment of weakness, brought on by your hopeful gaze, then it was a moment rarely repeated. Over the years with you beside me, I have been prone to foolishness, to smiles, even a generosity I never thought possible. But compassion?

I kept hundreds of secrets from you, but among those I guarded best was the censure I received for your presence. I was never a social sort of person (never a pack youkai, if you prefer.) Most of the people I'd talk to never lived through an entire conversation. Even so, becoming the master of a castle with tenants and experiments taught me that some interaction with others was necessary. Supplies and food had to taken care of, and I had to learn (without the Master's aide) how to defend territory—kill or be killed wasn't enough.

Every time I met with another youkai, supplier or enemy, their noses would twitch, their eyes would fill with contempt, and they would snarl, 'You reek of human.' My replies were varied and evasive, ranging from stories of how I kept humans as play toys for my violent and far-reaching experiments, to inarticulate snarls that neither proved or disproved their beliefs concerning me. I've often wondered if you knew how my kind treated me upon learning of your existence. All in all, I suppose it was lucky (for you and me both) that I was not some wolf youkai or the like—you might have been supper the night I brought you home!

Regardless of the haughty air that youkai put on when facing humans, most would rather avoid them than come in any sort of contact with mortals. And few youkai will spend time with a demon who cares from humans. Ironic, no? To most humans, youkai are monsters. To most youkai, humans are disgusting and dirty creatures. Aren't the two ideas one and the same?

Cares for humans? Did I think that? I ought to choose my words more carefully. I didn't care for humans... I cared for you, and hatred of mortals stripped away most of your humanity. Death -no not death exactly, since my heart still seems to be beating- dying does not become me. Suffering here, I've found myself wishing I were human: a mortal would be dead by now. But I am what I am, and because of it I suffer, trapped in a sea of agony that will not still until there is not a drop of blood left to run in my veins. I've forced myself not to pray for a mercy blow, but I'd find the cold flash of steel all too welcome now.

My mind must be failing me in my dying hour. Do you know what brainless thought has just danced its way through my head? What if, what if... What if we had both been born as members of the Dragon Clan? Ha. Ridiculous. A thought brought out by fading desires, nothing more. But, if we had? Couldn't things have been so much better? There would have been no murders, no violence, no feasts of human flesh, no heartless manipulation. There would have been to anxious worries for your safety. There would have been no isolation. But then... There would have been no Rath.

No! I should force my mind away from that subject. Rath is my greatest source of grief. He is the culmination of my greatest regrets. Rath is the reason I am lying here bleeding now. No, how could I? How could I blame him for this? Have I sunk so low—low enough to blame a child for my own actions? Unforgivable. Maybe now I can understand some of his reasoning. His hatred of me... Oh God, I wish I could call it all unfounded! How did I... How did things end up so badly between us? It doesn't matter. There's no time left for explanations or to beg forgiveness. There's time enough to think, yes, there's always an eternity in the mind. But the moment I would make to move, or to speak, that eternity held in my mind would dissolve. If I tried to say anything, the time I've stolen so I can cling to life would dwindle. And truthfully, I don't want to die. When a memory comes unbidden to me, pressing on my clouding thoughts, I snatch hold of it, eagerly willing to leave behind thoughts of Rath and death. Can you blame me?

The first day you hardly said a thing. You wandered along after me like an uncertain puppy dog—hands clamped to your side, but eyes roving all about, taking in everything. Once in awhile I'd have to wait a few moments: your tiny human legs simply couldn't keep up with a demon's pace.

"This way." I called over my shoulder as you struggled to catch up. "Up these stairs."

"Stairs..." You groaned quietly, trying hard to hide your heavy panting. _That was right_. I remember thinking, _Humans get tired easily. The thirty-third staircase must have worn you out. _

"Would you like to rest here a moment?" I asked, and you flinched. Did you think I hadn't heard your whispered complaint? My, humans don't know much about demons... But, the same can be said in reverse. Back then, I didn't even know what humans ate, let alone how sophisticated (or unsophisticated if you prefer) their senses were. I saw you nod slowly in answer to my question, and clutching your sheet-cloak, 'plop' down onto the stone floor.

Ah, sweet, glorious, ever awkward silence! I'd give anything for that sort of silence now. I don't want to hear you sobbing somewhere nearby. I don't want to hear the slowing heartbeat in my ears. I'd give anything for the silence I wanted to end that day. You were staring at me, and the curious-suspicious light in your bright green eyes was probably mirrored by my own. I was acting like a fool—twiddling my thumbs as I waited for your breath to even out.

"Are you the demon the villagers are so afraid of?" The question came completely out of the blue and the tone was less than polite. Of course I knew who you were talking about—the master had been the scourge of Western Arinas for longer than I had known him. But was I a feared demon? No—I could count on one hand the number of times I had been in human towns and actually attacked someone. Usually the master terrorized the village alone: I still believe, I still try to believe, that he kept me away from the towns out of concern. He'd found me in human's village, might he not lose me there too? Humans in the forest or prisoners of his raids, however, were a very different story.

"No... Not me. The demon that terrorized your village is dead." I don't know what force -spite, hatred, demon nature itself- made me continue, but the barely whispered words, "You cleaned his blood off the floor," crossed my lips coldly. The silence set in again, and I thought for a moment you hadn't heard that last added bit. But then you mumbled,

"You knew him." Did humans often infer things like that?

"He was... My Master," I replied, settling for an emotionless answer. At that time, I did not have the words to describe what he had been to me. Even now, the only word that seems to suit him is Master. You trained your viridian eyes on the floor like it had grown tentacles, and I thought that might be the end of our conversation. But your voice sounded again, tinged this time with caustic anger.

"He called them! Those men... They were royal guards. He called them!" If prying was common among demons, I would have interrogated you for the name of this 'he' but, as you've come to learn, youkai know the value of a secret. The unfurnished corridor fell into silence again. Desperate to make any sort of conversation (I had never before been faced with that horrible feeling humans called 'awkwardness') I said the first thing that came to mind:

"Garfakcy..." Ha, I had said it right that time! "Why did the humans want to hurt you?" The second I'd said it, I knew I should have chosen a different subject—any other subject. Your emerald eyes darkened in an instant, flashing dangerously, and the hands that held your sheet clenched tightly enough to rip the thin material.

"BECAUSE I HATE THEM!" You shouted, violent little voice ringing in my ears.

"And..." I turned my eyes up to stone ceiling, musing to the rafters, "Humans would attack you simply because you do not hold them in high appeal? Do humans value their young so little?" My voice sounded odd -curious and shocked- and you stared at me with a dubious look when I muttered to the granite archway above us, "Even most youkai will treat children of their kind with tolerance." My voice echoed quietly down the hall as you digested my half-subconscious comment.

"Humans are…" The anger boiling up inside you tightened your throat to the point where you could not finish the sentence.

"Foolish?" I supplied unconsciously. "Yes, humans can be incredibly foolish. But then, I suppose that can be said of any race, don't you agree?"

"Youkai—"

"I have known more foolish youkai than foolish humans." I omitted the fact that I hadn't known _any_ humans.

"I don't understand you." You muttered softly, half to yourself. You didn't understand me? Not surprising—I hardly understood myself. "What sort of demon are you? What sort demon does this-" You swept a hand toward your healed body, "For a human?" The last word was spat away like a curse.

"What sort of demon?" I echoed, unsure of what to say. I didn't have an answer. What sort of demon was I, that I could feel guilt, empathy? What sort of demon feels sympathetic? "I…"

"If," You snapped, voice level rising from pent up curiosity, suspicion and impatience, "You don't intend to hurt me, why did you take me out of the village?" An inquiry! How could I explain I hardly knew what I meant by kidnapping –or was it saving– you from the village?

"I wanted… I…." That moment, that moment could have been a turning point. It could have been the point in my life where I came to terms with the emotions I so barely understood, it could have been the time when I explained to you my almost human desires—the desire to be loved, to be valued, to love others, even to have warm place to call my own: a home, a family… But, I wasn't strong enough, was not well enough prepared. I stuttered out the only thing my troubled mind could muster:

"I was… curious."

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**Author's Notes:** Okay, this one was a bit longer wasn't it? But then you had to wait so long for it… Oh well, you've read it now, so that makes everything better. Yay! You actually read it (wee, readers!) Anyway, love you all dearly for reading my story, but I love my reviewers best! Please, please review—it would make me look like this:D! (And I like looking like that! And, shameless plug: Go read my friend's story, "Where We Are". Who wouldn't want to read a fiction where Kharl is a soap opera star?)

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**Review Responses:**

**aquajogger:** Wai! The praise… Wee! I'm so happy that you like it! I hope you liked this chapter too… It's not as cute or sweet, but I think it lays the foundation for the story to come, namely Rath. (And Gil too! .) I'm kind of sad though, because I just wrote the very last chapter (I'm out of order) and it's depressing. Oops… I won't say anything else. Anyway, I hope you take the time to review again, because your last review had me glowing.

**Snakespirit:** Yay, you reviewed! My day just got better. Anyway, thank you for the praise! I'm trying hard. I think I'll get better when we get into action-like scenes, like next chapter. Oops. No give-away! Oh, and you asked: A Mary-Sue is a character that is perfect. Like an OC that all the canon characters fall in love with, she has "sapphire" eyes, is a princess, has animal friends... The like. Thanks again for reviewing!

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	7. Needles, Faith and Feathers

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Author's Notes: Woo... I really like this chapter! It was so much fun to write! There are some silly moments: Kharl starts the "What if's", Garfakcy finally gets some clothes, AND some food. Geesh… I forgot that humans had to eat! Anyway, this chapter is MUCH longer than the previous chapters, and I'm going to try and make the next ones longer too. I have so much to cover, and I don't want to write a hundred years day-by-day! AURGH! Gil is... such a plot hole! I now have no idea where to put the Gil chapter(s). But I do know where to put the Silk chapter. Ooh! I can't wait to write that one. I absolutely love the Kharl/Silk pairing. It's impossible, but just the way she was talking about him… And that one picture sparked an unending love of Kharl/Silk. Why, must I ask, did he give her the option of death instead of forcing her into becoming a demon? (Course, she took his hand and became a demon rather that dying but, yah know…) MUWAHAHA! Anyway, enjoy this chapter and PLEASE, PLEASE review!

Disclaimer: ...Still not mine.

Background Music: Kaze no Hana (Mahou Tsukai)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Six-_  
Needles, Faith, and Feathers

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What makes someone innocent? Is it ignorance? Is it faith? What is the difference between those two? Faith is… a blind belief in something one cannot explain, something one cannot comprehend. Faith is a loyalty whose bonds are tested daily. One can believe in Gods, in lords, in others. You must have faith: even I had faith.

But ignorance… One can be ignorant in a million ways: ignorant of logic, of feelings, of violence, of knowledge in general. But most primarily, one can be ignorant in faith. It takes little work to claim belief, or to presume. It is an easy task to make oneself an avatar of lords or gods. That is blind faith: the speaking of one's bond, one's claims of loyalty. For most men, that is all they require—all they can attain. But true faith, faith that is not clouded by false claims or ignorance, that is something most men will die without achieving. It is something so rare, so elusive that even I, who feel it, doubt its existence. Yes—unlike most men, I have discovered true faith: it is a loyalty not born of greed or necessity; it is the bond between us, a bond I still cannot comprehend. I needn't understand: being able to grasp it, like taking hold of your little hand, is enough.

I had cared for the Master, I had loved him, I had trusted him to keep me safe –or at least– to treat me as an ally. In him I had a source of blind faith, of innocence. The trust I kept in him was nothing like the trust I have kept in you. I would trust you with nearly everything, including my life. That trust stems from knowing –truly knowing– a person. True trust, true loyalty, true understanding… It all comes back to truth, doesn't it? The truth… Something I was so loath to tell then and have no time to tell now. If I had been truthful—to you, to Rath, to myself, I would be smiling now. Maybe if I had said something different that day…

"I was… curious." The words sounded feeble, even to me. Whether or not you were satisfied by the stuttered excuse, I couldn't tell. You looked down at the folds of the sheet, breath starting to even out after your sudden interrogation. "There is only one more flight of stairs to climb. Can you continue now?" I asked quietly, training my gaze on your hands, not quite able to meet your eyes—what would I have seen there?

"Yeah." You mumbled almost incoherently, stumbling a little on the sheet as you stood. The tiny stone chamber at the top of the stairs was a place barely used by the Master and I. I had been there once, to store fabrics and armor for him, but that was years ago, and since, the room had fallen into disrepair. Cobwebs, thick with dust, fluttered like bat's wings between the rafters, and the air, choked with the heavy scent of rotting wood, was stale. The cedar and iron door swung reluctantly closed behind us, complaining shrilly about its sudden use.

I wandered, footsteps muffled by grit on the floorboards, to a corner cabinet. A few parcels, thoughtfully wrapped in paper, lay on dust-grey shelves, and selecting one at random, I pulled off the dull packing. Inside was a soft crimson material—what type, I had no idea.

"There should be a fabric suitable for clothing he- Ow!" In a rather ridiculous movement, I tossed the scarlet bundle away from myself and stared, shocked, at the tip of my finger, where a tiny drop of blood had begun to well. You stooped down, snagging something silver in your nimble fingers.

"A needle." You explained, holding it out to me, laughter showing through your viridian irises.

"Of course." I replied, letting go of my pricked finger and clinging to the last shreds of my plummeting dignity. I scooped up the red material, and the blood on my hand blended into it almost perfectly. "I'm not sure I can…" I started to murmur as you plucked a package off the shelf, "I do not know how to sew." It took a lot to admit ineptitude, and after all that, you hadn't even heard me. You were pulling packages off the shelves, shifting through material, using your fingers to measure lengths. Just as I had finished admitting my lack of ability, you had come upon a black fabric and were staring at it intently, as if it were more than just a piece of cloth.

"Uh-huh…This is enough…" Needless to say, I had no idea what you were going on about, and stood silently, watching you mark out things with your hands until—"Do you have metal?"

"What?" I was shook out of my revelry. "Oh…Yes. That cabinet there I believe."

"Good." You muttered, already halfway across the room.

"Am I to suppose- " a loud 'clang!' cut my sentence in two "-that you know what you are doing?"

"Uh-huh." You nodded without turning to look at me. "I used to… I used to…" Your little form sunk in its sheet, the floor felt the heavy weigh of emerald eyes, and your words came thick with emotion—I had never heard your voice so sad… or so soft. "I used to sew a lot." I stared, confused by your sudden change, for a few minutes before realizing I was being no help here.

"Then would you mind if I left you? There are things I should attend to." You didn't answer, and it dawned on me that this maze-like castle was new to you. "Oh. Here, I will leave this-" a little flicker of golden flame lit itself on my fingertip. "-with you. When you need, it will lead you straight to me." The little conjured fire broke free of my hand and began to flit about the room like a hummingbird. Watching it warily, you asked,

"Scissors?"

"They're here somewhere…" You nodded and turned back to the shelves, pawing through armor and thread as I shut the door.

The stone steps flashed under my eyes as I hurried, unhindered by a human's pace, down the stairs. A burning afternoon sun shone through the trees and into the gloomy granite corridors of –how odd it felt to say it– my castle. Night would be coming quickly, and if my weariness was any testament, you would be exhausted. A room would have to be prepared for you, and without servants, the task was left to me. I chose a chamber on the second floor, down the hall from my own. It was a rather plain room, but there was little I could do about that.

Thankfully, the servants had taken decent care of the place, so there was little for me to do. A closet in the wall was stuffed to the brim with neatly folded sheets and blankets, and I immediately set in to dig out some nice clean sheets for the bed. Unfortunately, I didn't realize how much of a mess covers could become… Hours! It took me hours to pick up all the blankets I'd tossed around. By the fifth or so time, I'd given up on trying to fold and had started just shoving them back where they belonged. I had barely managed to slam the closet door, all youkai strength required, when your voice, panting, shouted in the hall.

"Wait! Hold on a second!" The little golden flame sped under the door and circled about, energetically lighting up the room which had grown dark sometime during my sheet escapade. You forced the door open, and desperately trying to catch your breath, leant on its frame, glaring daggers at the innocent fire-guide. "You didn't say-" a pant cut off your words "-that thing would be-" another pant, "-so damn fast!" I expected to see you still in the sheet, but instead, you were wheezing inside an odd outfit made from that black material, bound at the waist by a brown band. You were clutching a bundle of the same brown fabric, a few shiny bits of armor and some white strips whose purpose I couldn't fathom.

"Forgive me. I didn't think about how fast it would travel." A snap of my fingers sent the offending flame into oblivion. "But it did its job." You growled some unintelligible reply, shifting your burden –a human's way of subtly announcing discomfort as I later learned– silently asking what I was doing here, in this room. "Garfakcy, you will sleep in this place." Strangely quiet, you passed through the doorway and laid the cloth gingerly on the bed, as if you expected the room to evaporate around you. "Is it suitable for a human?" You were staring about the chamber, trying to survey everything that had suddenly come under your control. I sat myself on the edge of the bed, putting the piece of furniture between us. "When do humans require sleep?" I asked, curiosity piqued. Did they sleep with the coming of the moon, or like youkai, each on their own schedule?

"I'm not tired at all." You retorted, but your mouth did something odd, and your eyes were only half-open and cloudy. Maybe later would have been a better time to ask questions.

"This room is yours, so feel free to do with it what you will. However…" I added as I wandered toward the hall. "I would avoid the closet." You were already scrambling under the covers like you had never slept in a bed, and then you mumbled something I had never heard before:

"Good night." You murmured, almost instinctively, half-buried in the mountain of pillows. I paused on my way to the door. Good night… Those two terms made sense to me, but… What were they—a ritualistic human blessing? The words sounded odd together.

"Good night…" I whispered, wondering if I could work a demon's mouth in a human felicitation. The feeling of the words was soft and pleasant, ringing almost melodious in my ears. I could say it! "Good night." I repeated, testing this new found ability. "Good night, Garfakcy." I shut the door behind myself, and almost smiling, brushed gently down the hall to my room.

I expected sleep to come easily, weary as I was, but as I fell into bed, I knew getting to rest would be a challenge. There were just too many thoughts rushing around in my head to sleep. My little human… Garfakcy. What an odd name. Although, maybe it was normal by human standards—I wouldn't know. I was so busy thinking, I couldn't see the edge of the blanket in front of my eyes. I knew there was a smile on my face, much like –what was the analogy you used– a child with a new puppy? There was just so much to learn! And you were so odd: fierce one moment and somber the next. Were all humans such veritable pallets of emotion? I tossed and turned for hours, posing hundred of What If's—what if humans needed to be kept a certain temperature? What if they couldn't eat youkai food? What if they need a certain amount of sunlight each day?—and I had no idea that, down the hall, you were also awake, marveling at all that had happened in the past few days. Eventually, my questions must have faded into dreams, because I remember waking up with the sound of muffled footsteps in my ears. Groggily -the morning was never my best time- I wandered toward the hall, and as luck would have it, I stumbled through the doorway just as you were tip-toeing past, carrying the red bundle and needle that had attacked me.

"Ah. Garfakcy." I was at a lost for something to say: the Master had never been much of a conversationalist, and I had no idea what salutation humans used to greet one another. "Um…" I began, brushing lilac strands (long overdue for cutting) out of my eyes, "Do humans have a saying for morning—like the 'good night'?"

"Good morning."

"Oh." Simple, efficient, catchy. "Good morning."

"It's noon." Noon? Well, humans told time in the same manner as youkai. But I certainly had slept late! I suppose that accounted for the lack of sunbeams in my eyes.

"Well then… Good noon!" You shook your head, crushing a half-smile. Had I said something wrong? Determined to get over my mishaps, I pointed to the red fabric. "What is that for?" You unfolded the material, letting it pool, like blood, on the floor.

"Night clothes." You replied, showing me where the fabric would be cut. But I wasn't paying attention to your cloth speech, as I had just noticed something new on your black outfit—the brown material you'd brought into your room last night had turned into a prim little jacket, your shoulders and knees were covered by the black metal armor you'd taken yesterday, and the round pieces were held in place partly by stitches, and partly by the white bands of material, which you'd woven around your forearms and shins. You'd even managed to sew yourself a pair of loose little boots.

Needless to say, I was amazed. The stitching was perfect (at least, **_I_** thought it looked extremely well done), the outfit itself was light, readily movable, and you'd managed to sew it so quickly! Just how early had you gotten up? My little moment of awe, and your nightgown explanation, were suddenly cut short by the strangest noise I had ever heard. It sounded like… growling. But I hadn't made any noise, and you'd been talking.

"Oh." You mumbled, letting part of the fabric go to grip your middle.

"What was that?" I started searching along the corridor for the source of the sound.

"My stomach." You muttered, sheepishly.

"Your…" It dawned on me that stomachs, especially human stomachs, should not make animalistic noises. "Is something wrong? Have you fallen ill? What can I do? What have I done!" I continued on that thread for several minutes, becoming almost hysterical. I would feel horrible if I had worked so hard to make you better only to have killed you! I had just started pacing when you interrupted me with a:

"I'm fine." You said, looking up at me with an odd expression (amusement, you told me) on your face.

"You're fine? But…"

"I just haven't eaten in… awhile." Your face darkened briefly, remembering something that stole the shine from your eyes, leaving them with a hollow, half-alive look, a look I instantly wanted to erase. How could I have not have realized you'd be hungry? It had been, after all, at least four days.

"Come with me." I smiled (what a habit it was becoming), and took hold of your hand, effectively ending your moment of ill memory. "There will be something in the kitchen."

There were loads of things in the kitchen, but very few were edible, and even fewer were safe for humans to eat. After pawing through several cabinets (most of which were full of vials of human blood and other delicacies), I stumbled onto a loaf of bread and a chunk of cured ham—food, no doubt, for humans the Master planned to test on. "You _can_ eat this, correct?"

"Yes." You replied, looking at it as if it were the finest meal you'd ever seen.

The only creature I've ever seen eat more quickly than you was a starved wolf demon, and that is certainly not an exaggeration. The bread was gone in seconds, and you set in on the meat without waiting for a knife. "Drink?" I handed over a flask of water; something I presumed was a universal requirement. That was drained just as quickly, and when the porcelain plate was cleared (entirely crumbless) you were still looking at it hungrily.

"How often must humans eat?" I asked, so that I could assess how much work it would take to keep my human from starving (a rather unpleasant fate, I'm sure you would agree).

"Three times a day." You replied, in that silly sheepish voice, as if embarrassed to admit you also had to eat that much.

"…A day?" Three times a day! At that time, I couldn't believe it—it seemed like so much, considering I ate twice a week at most. "We're going to have to get some food for you, aren't we?" Now… Where to get that food? Well, hunger abated, personage clothed, the only thing left to do was… nothing. What exactly was I expected to do now? Eerily, you had the same expression on your face—how were we supposed to just start… living? I was the adult here, so you would be looking to me for answers. I was the adult. When I had the first come into the castle, what had the Master said to me? Rules! He had told me the rules. Of course, they had been regulations for a young youkai, but children are children.

"There are some rules to know." I said, mimicking the Master as best I could. "The castle has three floors and a basement, which is rather dank and is best avoided." I tossed your empty plate into the stone sink, and, ignoring the shattering noise, continued, "Feel free to visit all the rooms –most are empty- but I'd advise you to stay out of the laboratories: there are things there that would prove harmful to humans. There are times when I am not to be disturbed: I will always give you plenty of warning regarding them. As of yet," was that really my voice, so formal? "I will not expect anything of you, though this can change. The entire forest is also the territory of this castle, but…"

My voice flattered, and your expression changed to one that almost reflected concern. "…The Master… My Master was the one who protected this area from other demons. He protected…" I couldn't admit that he protected me, that I had lost more than a mentor in his death. But humans have an ability I have often desired—they seem to understand more from what is not spoken than what they hear, and you were no exception. I couldn't name the look on your face, though it looked close to sadness. "He kept other demons off our land. Having smelt his blood, those youkai are sure to be flocking here now, to take the territory they believe abandoned. Until I have made it clear enough," in other words, killed enough, "For them to realize this place is under my possession, I would like you to remain inside. As for now, I am going to look for something. I trust you can entertain yourself for a few minutes?"

"Uh-huh." You nodded, though it appeared you had stopped paying attention. Was the prospect of exploring the castle so interesting?

"I should find what I'm looking for rather quickly. Do not wander too far." I smiled as I shut the kitchen door behind myself, feeling a bit odd, leaving you sitting alone at the table. I should have felt odder. I should have realized… I should never have left you by yourself without reinforcing my demand. No, I should not have left you alone all at. Because, as I went to find an empty notebook to begin my human-observations, you did something extremely human: the one thing I told you _not_ to do.

The library had been a second home to me as long as I had lived with the Master—I had spent days pouring over every book, mostly containing spells, that I could. I knew the shelves back and front, including the ones that contained blank notebooks. Despite the fact that I walked straight to them, it is my habit to make a mess, and as I pulled a black journal from the shelf, things came scattering out. A tiny ebony music box rolled down the pile of fallen books and snapped open, playing a familiar, slow tune. Inside, a velvet bag was looped around the lock. I knew what was encased in the sky blue cloth—I had stumbled across the music box years before, and asked the Master then: claw-sized Longetivity pills, designed to stop the process of aging. They were the creation of the Master's Master, and my mentor had never found use for them. Perhaps just I had.

"Garfakcy!" I called, journal tucked under my arm, music box in the other hand. "Garfakcy?" The kitchen was empty, your chair neatly pushed in, and the pieces of the porcelain plate I'd broken were gone from the sink. "Garfakcy?" I called again, wandering out of the kitchen and opening the door to the main hall. "Are you in here?" It was then I noticed: the iron and oak front door was open. Had you… gone outside? Then, through the quivering trees, I heard something that sent a horrible cold feeling crawling into the bottom of my stomach—your voice.

**"K-K-Kh-Ma-MASTER KHARL!"** In a heartbeat I was racing into the forest, disregarding the branches that snagged and ripped my night robe, which I had not taken the time to change out of. The normal musky odor of the forest was thick with the scent of demon, and lancing just beneath that, the heady smell of human fear. I could hear—just ahead, a demon's rough breath nearly drowned out your own frantic pants. There were three trees between us, two, one! I was hardly aware of my own body as I threw myself between the monster and your cowering form.

A flick of my wrist threw his claws away. The stupid beast was baffled by this sudden change in prey, and training flaring to mind, I struck it down easily. It was nothing to me, not even the slightest of strain, but as I watched its blood run dark over the dead leaf floor, I knew. I knew what I had just done would change my life forever. I had killed a youkai… to save a human.

"Garfakcy?" I turned from the lifeless corpse and found you shivering on the ground, reaching out to pick up a long, pure white feather, one of several. White feathers… My feathers. Had I been that worried, enough to lose control? "Garfakcy?" You didn't look up, even when I called again. Your eyes roved the white feather in your hand, or perhaps the dirt beneath you. "Are you all rig-" Your free hand rose to grip a fold in my night robe as I kneeled beside you. That was the first time you reached out to me, and you still did not look up.

"I was… I wasn't… I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I wasn't strong enough to stop… him!" Your voice and shoulders quivered, frustration and fear flaring to almost noxious levels. I understood that anger: in the days before the Master, I had felt it often.

"Do you want to be strong Garfakcy?" Emerald orbs, clouded by tears of self-hatred, met my own pale eyes. You stared at me silently, grip tightening on my robe, as if trying to prove I really was there, had really come to protect you.

"Yes… Master Kharl."

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Author's Notes: It's done! It's done! (Dance, Dance!) I really enjoyed writing this chapter… I think I went a bit over the top there though… Kharl was OOC, wasn't he? Wah! Maybe I should just re-write the whole thing. Less humor next chap- No wait. Next chapter is the promised pink apron chapter, and the explanation of this chapter, and the first experiments. (Anyone up for Killer Shrimp?) Well, what did you think of this chapter, cute, no? I liked it. Maybe it was a bit… Cheesy. But Kharl made his habitual messes. Poor dishes! Anyway, PLEASE review! I really would like to make it up to 30! If I reach thirty, I'll make the next chapter REALLY long. Okay, not THAT long, but longer than this one. Please? Hilfe mich, bitte?

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Review Responses:

**Aquajogger:** Tests… Ugh! I know your pain. I'm in the GATE program at my high-school, and we get ten times the number of the tests. It's hell-semester. Anyway, I'm really glad you liked the last chapter. The ending was… odd. I liked this chapter a lot better. I think I'm getting better with Garfakcy and worse with Kharl. Oh well. I'll balance myself out eventually. ? I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

**Kage Ohkami:** You. Must. Not. Flatter. Me. You're review is going to push my ego through the roof! But thank you so much! I really don't think this story is that good… But I'm glad that you do, it makes me feel like I'm definitely not wasting sleep! I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much… Was Kharl weird in this one? Well, I'm off to write some more passages from the Demon Bible… And to write "Human Observation #1" Thanks for reviewing!

**Koriaena:** It is confusing, you're right! Basically: Kharl is dying and remembering everything that happened in his life. Every time he says "you" he is talking to Garfakcy. I'll try to make it less confusing (heart attack). Oh, and when Kharl said "part of the Dragon Tribe" he was imagining what it would have been like. Garfakcy has been captured by the Dragon Tribe, but captured isn't the right word. He's being held by the Dragons a.k.a, being kept away from Kharl. I hope that clears things up! Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you liked this chapter!

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	8. Moon, Skin and Housemates

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Author's Notes: Oh…My…Goodness, I am sooooo sorry! Arghhhh. I kept you waiting for soooo long and then I end up giving you this... thing. I can't bring myself to call it a chapter. Okay, it obviously is a chapter –and the longest one at that– but it's NOT good. Okay, that's not exactly true. In ways, it's very good. The sensory detail in some parts is really done well. However, in other parts, I think it's not as well-written as it could have been. Also, there is not much action is this chapter. It's almost a filler I guess, for what's about to come.

Disclaimer: -Insert standard disclaiming phrase here-

Background Music: Lord of Ideals (Naruto Movie 2 OST)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Eight-_  
Moon, Skin, and Housemates

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There are some things remarkably similar between you and I. Not blood, no, we could not get farther apart in that, but there are some things… We both suffered from nightmares. I can't begin to count the times we'd run across each other, wandering aimlessly by moonlight down the corridors. I'd learned quickly that ordering you back to bed had little effect. Instead, we'd fallen into the habit of talking away night hours; talking about the weather, the world, anything but the reasons we could not sleep. When you first came to the castle, these sleepless nights were frequent; the dark circles under your eyes frightened me. But as years passed, your nightmares faded, leaving me alone in the corridors—unlike you, whose fell dreams abated through death and care, my nightmares only became more numerous.

There were nightmares reliving the Master's death, there were nightmares where you died (usually by my own hand); later came nightmares of Rath: he killed me, he killed you, he killed himself… But no nightmare of the Master or of Rath has ever left me in the corridors as often as the dream I have had since the night I offered to make you strong.

_"Master!" You raced, brown boots tossing up leaves and pine needles, down a dark, unending forest path. "Master!" You taunted, turning as you ran to smirk over your shoulder. I followed, pants of breath spiraling like clouds of mist into the frigid air. _

_"Garfakcy!" I reached out vainly, trying to catch you, to stop this pointless running. _

_"You'll never keep up like that Master!" You chuckled, lengthening the darkness between us with each step. "Master!" You teased again, now just out of my line of sight. I was suddenly overcome by a choking, crushing sense of terror that bit at my burning lungs. How could this sprightly child be you? What was missing? It was— _

_"My name! Why won't you use my name?" As if drawn by the question, you were suddenly there, looking up at me with empty, childish eyes. _

_"Oh, I couldn't say that! That'd be disrespectful to you Master. The disrespectful have to die." _The disrespectful have to die_… Words stolen straight out of my Master's mouth. How had you learned that? What made you believe those words? Where had this travesty of humility come from? I looked down at you, panting, appalled. I didn't want this humbleness… _

_"But Garfakcy, I don't want to be-" What did I not want to be? It came to me, not as a thought or even a coherent idea—it came as a broken, hazy picture: an image of the Master, scowling over me. "I don't want to be that man. I never want you and I to be like… He and I." I reached out to take a hold of you. _

_"Master," You tore free of my hold, "Don't be confused, we'll never change: I'll always be your servant." Cruel, cruel reassurance to my ears! I stared, horrified, as you smiled up at me—the same smile I had worn for him, my Master, the man I had so loved, the man who had never loved me. I wanted to rip that smile from your praise-eager face. Anything! I would have given anything to see your prideful sneer, your surprised gasp, your pleasant little grin—any emotion but the one you wore. _

_"I'll do anything you like Master." You promised, but as that heartfelt vow crossed your lips, you began to step away from me, fading quickly into the forest. And I knew, like some twisted joke, that your very promise, your very words were pulling us apart, dropping a veil of blackness between us. _

I sat up in bed, tangled in my thick sheets, drenched in cold sweat. The darkness weighed oppressively and silently on me, and I threw back the covers and almost shouted to the candles, which roared a little too enthusiastically to life. The stone behind their graceful silver wall holders blackened from the heat, and pale burning wax began to roll in waves away from the miniature blazes. Even the light did not help to diffuse the strange and frightening air of the nightmare, and I knew that I needed to get out of the room. Leaving the candles shining, I staggered into the hall, almost tripping on the hem of my long night robe. The stillness of the corridor pressed down on me just like the veil in the dream, and I realized my hands were shaking.

Suddenly, a blaze of silver light caught the right side of my face: a wide open window. I rested my trembling elbows on the sill, allowing the cold of the stone to sink into my skin and calm the shaking. The balmy breeze brought me scents of rotting leaves and living creatures in the forest, and the gleam of the full orange moon on the horizon soothed away the lingers traces of the inexplicable fear that had come from the nightmare. It seemed that I almost might be able to forget what I'd imagined and fall asleep again when I heard a soft footfall behind me.

"Garfakcy." I spun about, and the laughter and empty smile of the dream came flying back into my mind. At that moment, I didn't want to see you—to risk seeing some trace of myself in you that might mold our actions into…

"What's wrong Mast-" I flinched horribly, and you didn't continue. "Is something wrong?" Something was wrong, but what words could I use to tell you so?

"I don't want to be…" I started to speak, and I realized that I'd chosen the same words as I had in the dream. I couldn't find the voice to continue. Silence wore on between us, and I could tell you were dying to ask what I didn't want to be. I couldn't even begin to explain to you what sort of horror came from that dream: it frightened me to think that I might become like my Master had been.

"Garfakcy… What's my name?" I barely said the words, and I knew they sounded absurd.

"What?"

"What's my name?" I pressed, and you fell silent for a moment, brow creased in comical confusion.

"K-Kharl." You stuttered other the word a bit, not used to using it alone, without a humble little addition.

"Never forget that." I turned back to the rising moon, half-afraid to hear your reply. "Whatever you add it, don't stop using my name." I didn't offer any explanation, but hoped that the nearly hidden desperation in my voice might enforce my point.

"I won't forget." You promised automatically, but I could tell you did not understand. How could you? How could anyone but me truly understand? That single word, 'Master'… That word had been a wall between my mentor and I, a dark veil we dyed with human blood. That wall—it kept me ever killing, ever fighting, ever begging for praise. That word… it had stolen my innocence and left me always hoping, always smiling, always dreaming that the love I had for him, my protector, my mentor, my Master, might be returned. To be called Master, and only Master, was to make me as he had been, to make you as I had been. Not for all my unreciprocated adoration of him would I ever consign you to that fate. Not for anything in this world would I let you live as I had lived—always loving, always unloved.

Though it would not tear away the veil that had fallen with your use of 'Master', if you never lost my name, the curtain would never be black—we would never be Master and Servant completely. You would never go unloved as I had. And… As long as we did not become as he and I had been, I could live with a twilight veil. Or, that's what I told myself then. But I, with my longing to be loved, to have a home, a family—that part of me was not satisfied with twilight. It was that part of me, that desire, which led to Rath's creation.

My mind is losing track—I'm dropping hours and days from my memory. If I were telling this to someone, I would have lost them already. All this talk of nightmares, and I hadn't thought of the half-day that occurred before them.

"Do you want to be strong Garfakcy?"

"Yes Master Kharl." To my dying day, today, I have not known what made you start that ridiculous humility. You never told me what went through your mind; what made you subconsciously, unknowingly, build a wall between us. Maybe it was the way I had spoken of my Master to you. Maybe it was… I'll never really know quite what thoughts started the "sama". Perhaps it would take a human to understand that.

"Yes Master Kharl." You murmured, closing your fingers over the white feather in your hand and glancing past me to the demon's bleeding corpse. I wanted to step between, to block your sight of what my claws had wrought, but I didn't move to stop you from looking. Maybe I secretly wanted to know what you would say. What, little human, would you think of me, who murdered my own kind? The silence cut more than the branches I had fought to reach you. Nothing. There were no words of scorn or fear from you. And when I looked into your eyes, searching for the grain, however hidden, of repulsion, I found… Gratitude. It troubled me that you would think nothing of the blood under your feet, or the blood on the claws of my hand near your shoulder. It bothered me, but I was relieved.

"Garfakcy," I muttered as we started walking back to the castle. "I asked you to stay inside."

"I-" Your face turned an unhealthy color –red– and you stopped looking at me, little form admonished. "I'm sorry Master Kharl!" You seemed to love the title already. "I was only… It was…" Where had I heard those stumbled excuses before? A memory in a memory now, my own childish voice crying stupid reasons for having lost the prey. "It was cold and I thought firewood…"

"It's all right." I smiled (such a strange thing, already a habit). It was your turn to look relieved. As we neared the castle, I realized something was odd. Something… Ah! The things I'd dropped! The music box had fallen open, and a soft, tinkling melody was drifting into the woods. Where had I heard that song before?

"Amazing Grace..." You mumbled under your breath.

"Amazing Grace," I repeated, recognizing the tune finally. Amazing Grace… The night Master had found me, in the human's village I'd been listening to that hymn from outside on the church steps. I shut the box, ending the song. What a sick coincidence.

_Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,  
That saved a wretch, like me…_

I scooped up the black journal and pulled the heavy door shut behind us. My, I realized, it was rather chilly in here. Or maybe it was only the rips in my robe… But you shivered too, and determining the place to be too cold for either of us, a wave of my hand and well placed words brought the main hall fireplace blazing to life. I think you slapped your forehead with a palm, grumbling something about a 'fiasco'. Silly human. I went upstairs, amused by the way you trailed behind, as if attached to me by an invisible leash. I almost wanted to push you away, just to see if humans possessed some magical ability to tie themselves to others.

The second floor was just as cold, and I lit wall torches as I went. When I stopped at my door, you almost ran into my back.

"I think I'll get dressed now, though it's a little late in the day…" You nodded, but which statement you were agreeing with, I wasn't sure. I heard your footsteps scuffing down the hall as I shut my door. The afternoon sun poured in my window, making it unnecessary to light candles, even in the closet. It was cooler today, so I tugged out a thick red robe and a gold-colored overthrow. Ha, that outfit… One day, in a moment of undue sincerity, you'd told me (in an extremely somber voice) that red and gold simply did not match my lilac hair.

The wounds from running through the forest had already healed, leaving only a few dark spots on my night robe as proof of their ever existing. As I tossed the bloodied thing into the (growing) heap of clothing across the room, I heard you standing outside in the hall, tapping your foot impatiently on the stone floor. Fiddling with the gold sash, I wandered out to you. I wonder why I didn't realize: you weren't holding the feather anymore. All played out as it has, I suppose it doesn't matter. The ancient clock in the hall chimed three, and I knew that now was the time to start on my unspoken promise. I would have to find a way to give power to a human—a human, whose form could not perform magic or accept the energy of a youkai. How? Could I do something so unprecedented? Even if it had never been done before, there had to be something… And research meant—the library. Even if there was nothing to find there, it wouldn't hurt to look. Noting the irony, I wandered back down the stairs and toward the room I had just left, this time with you in tow.

As I pushed open the ornate glass doors, I heard your quickly stifled gasp. Yes, the Master's library was rather incredible, wasn't it? Though I'd never seen any other library, I knew the Master's collection was expansive—even after all my years of living in the castle, I hadn't been able to read all the books in the giant room. You were looking all around again, peering at the volumes like ancient treasure. A humbling thought took a hold of me: What if you could not read them, these leather-bound tomes? I couldn't remember a time when I had not been able to read; the thought disturbed me. But now, with such a difficult task before me, the subject of literacy would have to wait.

The library sections were marked in a scrawly hand –not the Master's– on paper that pre-dated many of the books they labeled. I swept the section on esoteric magic into my arms, and filing through the alphabet, found a dusty, dark corner marked 'humans'. Many of the books there had not been touched in decades- perhaps not since before the Master's Master, or even before that. Their rice-paper pages were yellowed and crumbling, some eaten through by moths. I was afraid to even touch them, but surprisingly, they held up fairly well.

I took up residence in a thick, aging armchair by the fireplace, dumped my books on the floor (some more gently than others) and snatched an enormous journal off the top of the stack. The smooth writing was dull, bled and barely legible, but I quickly got used to it—and I was amazed by what I found. You must have wandered away after a while, because I remember looking up from the book after hearing you shout "Look at this mess!" So, you'd found the things I'd tossed about earlier. I noted it quickly and fell back into the manuscript, unable to believe that something like that had been rotting in the library so many years.

The sky was a warm midnight blue when I stopped searching for a way to make you stronger. On that vein, I had gotten nowhere—there had been no magical way to solve our problem. But the trip to the library had not been useless, far from it. I had found a number of books whose content astounded me. In that dusty, unread humans section I had found demons just like me. There were tons of journals there, journals from all types of youkai, like only in their ability to feel. They felt emotion, just like I did, they loved—they loved! They lived by themselves, tortured by loneliness; they wondered the world, searching for reason behind their feeling… Some of them, when they could find no companionship with youkai, renounced their race and lived among humans! They disguised themselves, took human names—some took human mates! It was almost beyond me, those 'youkai' remembered only as words.

They felt as I felt, they took human company as I had… they left this world with only an unloved book for eulogy. I was not alone anymore then, but I realized I could not be one of them: content to leave this world unnoticed, lonely, living a lie… I was so relieved to know them, and so frightened to know I was like them. Were you and I part of something much larger, part of an inexplicable clashing of races in a world not suited for either of us? It terrified me that we might pass out of existence as those emotion-driven youkai and their human companions had: without changing anything in this world. I swore to myself as I left the chair to find you that I would not die unnoticed. If it meant my life, I would do something the world would never forget.

_It was the only promise I ever kept, and I kept it well—they will never forget me._

It turned out you were in an armchair several rows away, breathing heavily in sleep. How very young and human you looked. I turned over the last few days in my mind, in awe of how fully and completely things had changed. I was now responsible for an innocent little human, responsible for a castle, and responsible for myself. Being responsible for you meant more than just letting you live—I had to provide for you like the demons in those books provided for their companions, and that meant finding you food. Following that logical process, finding food for a human meant buying food from humans… in the humans' village. Really, the thought didn't bother me as much as it should have: I was almost curious to see how much had changed since I'd last really looked about the place.

"Garfakcy." I called, soft enough not to startle you, but loud enough to rouse you from your comfy-looking sleep.

"Uh?" You looked up slowly, big emerald eyes cloudy and barely open. "What?"

"You've gone to sleep in the library. Your room is upstairs. You'd be more comfortable there, wouldn't you?" Your only answer was to sluggishly pull yourself off the chair. Half-asleep, you caught the cuff of my robe to hold yourself upright, and almost nodded off again. "Come on." You allowed yourself to be led, via the sleeve of my shirt, out of the room and upstairs. As you bid me another half-mumbled 'good night', I couldn't help but think that there were some things about humans one had to enjoy. Perhaps I wouldn't have smiled if I had known what was going to happen later that night. I certainly never expected to wake up frightened, to find you in the hall, or to act so ridiculously. With humans, I have come to realize that very little is certain.

The nightmare that had sent me out in the hall that night had driven out all thoughts of visiting the human village, but glancing rays of sunlight that burnt my sleep-deprived eyes brought the thought of breakfast to mind. I'd managed for the first, and nearly last time, to wake up before you. Missing sleep hadn't helped you at all, and I had no idea when you would awaken. The thought that you would wake up hungry prompted me to begin preparations for a journey to the humans' village. The fine robes I was used to probably wouldn't pass well in the town, particularly if I wanted to be ignored. A struggle ensued to reach the back of the closet, and about ten minutes later, I found something reasonable—a rather old, plain outfit I'd used when working with chemicals prone to dying fabric strange colors. Suitably dressed, I wandered down the stairs and into the rotunda room that had been my apprentice laboratory. Twin golden perches on the West Wall stood unoccupied, meaning the birds had gone off to hunt, probably because I hadn't fed them in days.

The place had been cleaned by the spell-servants right before the Master died, which meant the usual sea of clutter was all "properly" shelved. I hate having to search through all those closed cabinets! It took me less than half an hour to effectively destroy all trace of cleanliness in the room and find what I needed: a small silver mirror and a tiny bottle containing round bits of crystallized ash. Ash is one of this world's most amazing substances: it can be manipulated in hundreds of thousands of ways because, unlike almost all other things, it not only absorbs magic, it can also _memorize_ the power put into it. A single thought can be enough to awaken an enchantment held within the dust. I remember drawing an ash-crystal from the jar and muttering to myself,

"A thought can set it off… It's too simple. Even a human could use it." Something clicked. Even a human, even Garfakcy! I might have forgotten all about my trip to the mortals' village if my stomach hadn't twinged painfully. When was the last time _I'd_ eaten? Developing ash magic could wait, I decided, and crushed the little pill I'd pulled from the jar. As it began to run like sand through my fingers, I thought quickly, calling up an illusion spell stored inside it and focusing on hiding the things that made up my youkai appearance.

It took less than a minute, and putting the mirror to use, I inspected my "human" disguise. The toss-about lilac plume I normally called my hair had become thin and hung low, past my ears, which had lost their usual points. Brushing now white blonde bangs aside, I found my eyes had faded into a cloudy blue. The claws were gone from my fingers, and a quick look proved my fangs had shortened into human canine teeth. Even though it was only an illusion, the magic dampened my senses, making it hard to hear or smell as well as normal. That wouldn't be a problem in the humans' village of course, where mortal scent would have drowned out everything anyway, but in the forest, which could still be filled with territory-seeking youkai, I would have preferred to have my senses alert.

Nevertheless, I had to take what had been given. Wading (less than delicately) back to the door, I managed to escape into the hallway with only a few pieces of laboratory equipment clinging to my ankles. Here, out of the waist high mess, the mirror could be put to full use. It was a convincing disguise, wasn't it? With my shabby outfit, my less then radiant looks, and the almost my almost sad-looking human countenance, no one would care enough to throw a second glance my way. So I was ready, wasn't I? I had wandered into the main hall and nearly to the front door before I realized that you might awaken while I gone. It wouldn't be prudent of you to wake up and wander off into the woods in search of me. Ah! I'd leave you a note! I took me only a few minutes to snatch a paper and a quill from a desk in the library and quickly scribble out:

Garfakcy,  
I've gone to the humans' village to buy food. I'll be back in a few hours. Please stay inside.  
Kharl

There, that looked about right. Suddenly, it occurred to me: what if you couldn't read? I hadn't taken the time to ask last night. So what would happen if you woke up and found a paper with unintelligible scribbles all over it? You'd didn't have to read to understand pictures, did you?

I might have had beautiful handwriting, I may have been exceptional at hurried writing down alchemedic symbols, but I have never been an artist. It's safe to suppose that my quick drawings were not very well done. I'd come off looking like a blob with poofy, pointy hair, the humans' village looked like a double row of bread boxes, and the sun, which I'd taken pains with, looked like an innocent circle which had suddenly decided to grow menacing spikes. There! They weren't by any means beautiful, but they worked. Leaving the paper in plain sight, I hurried out the door.

Any observer would have marked me a crazy person had they watched me walk through the woods that day. Every tiny sound sent me into spasms of mad glancing, every movement made me look about wildly for potential enemies. How could humans live like this—not being able to tell what was really there? If I'd had my youkai senses, a demon stalking me wouldn't have been a bother at all: I'd have been able to tell instantly if it posed any threat. Being so impaired was horribly frustrating. I found myself walking faster and faster, and then almost running, determined to reach the humans' village where mortal scent and sound would overwhelm me and make useful the loss of my senses.

Despite my human countenance, the sprint to the city affected me as it normally would, meaning the hard run had no effect on my breathing at all. In fact, as I slowed before the fringes of the wood, the rapid beating of my heart was from excitement more than anything else. How many years had it been? How many generations of mortals had been buried in my absence? How much of the city would be the same murky back-alleys I had known in childhood? The answers, it seemed, were less forthcoming than I predicted. The houses nearest to the wood were exactly as I remembered human hovels: molding thatched roofs over thick and uneven walls of dry clay or mortar and brick. Nothing new, nothing that suggested change for the better or at all. The outskirt roads were still unpaved and rut uneven by the tracks of feet and wagons. The trees still pressed right in on the little communities.

It wasn't until I wandered nearer to the town's center that realized how much really had changed. Instead of the quaint buildings that had once been the thriving court square, I found garish white-washed monstrosities, done up with trim of every color and beset by wooden signs proclaiming what was being sold inside and out on the cobblestone street. Everywhere were these vibrant, obtrusive banners, and everywhere below them were crowded wooden booths, overflowing with wares and the humans who sold them. From all directions came the unending shouts of these "shopkeepers"—fighting to be heard above the bustle of humans, wagons, and the salespeople. "A deal! A deal here!" They shouted, appealing to the crushing masses of mortals that flooded the square and pressed against each other, politely (or less that politely) struggling to purchase what they needed.

Never before had I seen so many mortals in one place. There seemed to be no end to how many humans and vendors could be crushed into the small area. If I were discovered, did I have the strength to defeat them all? A quick shudder, easily suppressed. There were important matters to be dealt with, and watching the human crush from a distance was not one of them. Steeling myself, I wandered off the quiet dirt road and into the square. Instantly, I was swept up in the endlessly moving crowd and was borne along the wave of townspeople. There again was a difference: these humans were not the simple, happy, subsiding people I had watched as a child. The ever changing faces around me were not the rosy cheeks I expected; they were cold, gaunt, half-starved and desperate. The luster was gone from their many colored eyes. Were these half-dead creatures really human? They seemed nothing like you, so alive.

Here, carried along by the tumble of human movement, I could feel the texture of their fabric—not the fine cloth I had loved to run my hands across, but coarse and rough spun garments, as dull and lifeless as their wearers. Everywhere I looked these clothes flashed below my eyes, assaulting me with the scents of a melting pot of mortal flesh. Salt and the unique human smell of oil, blood flowing in their fragile veins… things I thought that, under disguise, I wouldn't have able to smell. It must have been the sheer closeness of their bodies that enabled the scents to reach my hindered nose. Yet, strong as they were, the smells of living human skin could not completely drown out the lacing undercurrents of filth, fear, and more apparent, death. The stark odor of rotting flesh drifted on the breaths of racing mortals pervading from dark corners and alleyways. I was not the only one smelling it, I realized. A young girl passed a dark crevice in the buildings and pressed a pale hand to her face, attempting to block the putrid scent from toying about her defenseless nostrils. This place was not the quiet, small, happy village I remembered—this was a city plagued by suffering, corruption, and decay.

But was that any business of mine? Having seen more than my fill, I stopped staring blankly at the human crowd and decided to attend to my chore. Food… Probably not that hard to find. Ah, a very correct assumption. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be another stand selling things that looked edible. I must admit, I went a bit mad. You see, I'd never really been shopping before, and the variety was almost overwhelming. I must have confused the first human vendor I approached—I'd starting picking things off the shelf, sniffing them to make sure they could be eaten, and then stuffing them into the crooks of my arms so I could grab more. First the red ones, which had a sharp, clean smell, then the orange ones, which smelled faintly like the red ones but sweeter and stronger. Then several different kinds of green ones… I even managed to find yellow kinds!

When I truly couldn't hold anything more, I dumped the huge pile onto the counter. The clerk eyed the mound, eyed my less than grand looking outfit and sighing, started to count out the "fruit". I may not really have known what I was buying, but I knew how to buy it. Years could not have changed the banking system too much. Easily, I knelt down and ran my hand across the cobblestone street, gathering up some dead leaves and several loose pebbles. A precise flick of the wrist and… Opening the hand I closed over the litter, I found exactly what I expected: heavy, shining gold coins.

"Oi!" The man behind the counter growled, "This is gonna be 7000 Dire!" Dire? It was an unknown word to me, but if childhood in a humans' village had taught me anything, it was that gold could buy anything. "Is that… Is that gold!" His voice was a surprisingly low hiss, like he wanted not to be heard.

"Yes," I smiled and dropped it into his hand, which had frozen palm up, expecting my "Dire".

"Real?" He snarled, murky brown eyes narrowing in suspicion. I nodded again. After all, they were perfectly real now… Judging from the tone of his voice, he would have taken it, even if I'd called it fake. The gold disappeared into a metal cashbox, and smiling, he bagged the fruit quickly. "Arigatou!" He shouted brightly as I wandered off. It made me wonder really, how much was gold worth to these humans?

After the silly fruit purchase came silly vegetable purchasing, and after the vegetables came meat, which I found to be only chains of complex Carbon molecules: molecules ridiculously easy to replicate in a laboratory. Just when I thought I was almost finished, I came across a small vendor selling packets with pictures of fruits and vegetables on them. When I got close enough, I realized they were packages of seeds. With my bags heavier and the seed salesman's pocket considerably fuller, I decided I was finally ready to go home. It seems fate was against my leaving the village however, because just as I started to push my way out of the square, a fancy white coach sped up the street and through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea around it. Unused to whatever routine the humans and coach had already established, I was left standing in the path of the horses. I might have moved, I might have been afraid of being trampled, if I hadn't known exactly what would happen when those horses got close enough to me.

Yes, just as I imagined, the innocent animals shrieked and reared to stop a yard from me. Nickering, they tried desperately to back away. That's what happens, you see, when normal animals come in contact with youkai—they simply can't tolerate our presence. With the exception of birds, I've never been able to keep company with mortal animals. The driver on top of the carriage shouted some curse word and lashed at the shivering beasts. Realizing just how much of a scene I was making, I stepped off the street, making room for the coach to pass, which with the driver's loud encouragement, it did. As the white painted wood started past, the gold-gilded curtains flicked back, giving me a fleeting view of a beautiful but cruel looking man. His scowl and creased brow were easily forgotten, but his brilliant green eyes…

"'He's strikin' isn't 'e?" A friendly voice chimed from behind me. Almost caught off guard, I turned about and came face-to-face with a large, smiling female.

"Ah, yes." I muttered, plagued by a strange familiarity. His eyes…

"Tha's the Baron. 'e comes through 'ere everyday." She threw her dark plaited hair over a shoulder. We were in front of a fabric store I noticed, and when the women bustled behind the cashbox, I understood the shop belonged to her. "Wha' about you spooked 'is 'orses so?"

"Animals… generally dislike me."

"Wha's ta dislike about you? You look like a pretty li'l thing ta me." Unsure of what exactly she'd said, I tried to smile politely. "You're a foreign'r?" She peered at me curiously. "I've never seen you in 'his village before."

"I've been traveling," I lied easily, and ridiculously curious myself, started to look around.

"Wha's your name?" She asked, probably for the sake of the conversation. Now there was an answer I didn't have planned! What could I tell her?

"A-Avis." I stuttered out the first word that came to mind. Avis… the beginning of the chemical name for a caustic acid made from demon's blood.

"Avis… Tha's a nice name, I guess." She paused then smiled again. "So wha're you lookin' for taday?" I almost said 'nothing', but a sudden idea came to me instead.

"Do you have something heavy, to protect one's clothing while cleaning?" The woman broke out laughing.

"You mean 'n apron?"

"Of course." I nodded, though my conception of an apron couldn't be the same as hers. To me, an apron was a floor-length, wrist-length covering made of demon skin and bone, designed to protect flesh from corrosive chemicals.

'''ere's some o'er there." She pointed to a far corner. Yes, a human's "apron" was very different: it had no sleeves, and was certainly not made of demon skin. It took me a few minutes, but at last I found one about your size. It was rather bright, but I was sure you wouldn't mind.

"I'll buy this." I said as I brought it up to the counter.

"'hat's very cute! It's gonna be 3000 Dire."

"Will this work?" I offered her a handful of gold I'd made in the square. Her dark eyes widened more than a fraction, and she took the metal with trembling fingers.

"D' you hav' any idea 'ow much 'his is worth?"

"Not really," I smiled.

"You could buy my 'ole shop with 'his! You're definitely not from 'round 'ere!" Another innocent smile on my part… "Sure you wan' ta give me all 'his?"

"It's not worth much to me. If it can buy this entire shop, it must be very valuable. Why do you not use gold anymore here?"

"We 'aven't used gold fa' twelve years. Na' since 'his Baron. 'e's not a good man. 'e don't care a mite about the village- 'e's one a' those high-up folks, only cares about power. 'e stopped lettin' us use gold an' forced paper notes on us. Dire. I 'aven't seen a real coin fa' years—they all wen' inta 'is pocket. The village 'as been tryin', but things are fallin' apart. Can't you tell? 'ere's na enough food, na enough money or medicine. Things are getting' worse faster now. You pro'lly hear about the demon tha' attacked less than a week ago." I hadn't needed to hear about it… "I 'eard he was one a' tha pretty ones, an' so strong 'e didn't need ta touch anyone ta kill'em. 'e kidnapped a li'l thief boy, I 'eard. Pro'lly ta eat 'im!"

"Really?" I asked, hoping I was better at lying than I felt. Taking the bag off the counter, I added it to my other purchases and headed ("casually") toward the door.

"Be careful—travelin's dangerous when youkai are about!"

"I'll remember that." I almost laughed.

It took less than ten minutes to push my way back through the masses of humans, wander out of the square, and meander back down the dirt roads. At last, far from human sight and just within the first line of dark trees, I let the illusion drop, managing to hold in my joy at returning to my own form. I strolled slowly back toward home, restored youkai senses making the trip much less rushed than before.

The castle came into sight again finally, with the last sunlight of the day staining its dark towers a beautiful crimson-gold. Never before had it looked so delightfully inviting. It almost seemed like any happy, peaceful home, until I realized that someone was shouting inside the front doors. Someone…you! What if a demon had gotten in? What if humans had come? What if! I shoved open one the doors with my free hand and frantically looked around inside, searching for an enemy. I really shouldn't have worried (another emotion human contact has taught me): I did find demons in the main hall, but they certainly weren't enemies.

"Master Kharl!" You shouted, racing toward me. "I'm really sorry Master Kharl! I tried to get them out, but…" You looked a little worse for the wear: your hair was out of place, your clothes were rumpled about…

"It's all right Garfakcy. Left Bird and Right Bird live here too."

"Left Bird… and Right Bird…"

"They were a present from my Master. I hope they didn't frighten you."

"You could've warned me!" Your little human voice chided. Left Bird flapped angrily from his perch on the stairwell, and I started laughing. I tried my best to hold it in, but failed miserably. The look on your messy-haired face… "You think it's funny!"

"I'm not," another chuckle, "Laughing at you," chuckle, "It's just Left Bird… says I should have," laugh, "Warned _him_." I manage to get my giggling under control (barely), and searching for much needed air, said, "It's seems we were all surprised. Forgive me. Left Bird, Right Bird, this is Garfakcy. He's going to be staying here too." Right Bird bated irritably. "Yes, of course I know he's human!" You had fallen silent, and seemed completely thrown by our actions.

"Formal introductions for birds…" You mumbled under your breath, probably wondering if life with me could get any stranger (it did). A piece of paper fell off the mantel, letting badly drawn pictures glitter in the light of the fireplace's dying embers.

"Ah, my note. You got it then?"

"Yeah. What was with the pictures?"

"So you can read."

"Of course—yeah, I can read." I cringed a little at my unnecessary blob people.

"Ah, speaking of people, look what I brought!" I proudly held open the bags of food for your inspection. "I even bought little seeds so we don't have to go back to the village." You probably weren't paying any attention: half of you was buried in one of the large bags, checking every single purchase. "Oh! And I bought this for you." I grinned, and dug the apron out of one of the other bags. You looked up from the fruit and blinked at the cloth.

"The shopkeeper said it was 'very key-ooot!' What do you think?" I knew I must have been smiling expectantly.

"It's…uh…pink."

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Author's Notes: Okay… I know it was bad, and the ending was weird. But I figured it was long enough. So anyways, what'd ya think? I told ya, it had its moments.

Review Responses:  
**Aquajogger**: Hee hee… This chapter was kinda… Ugh. I liked the parts at the beginning… But yeah. Thanks for all the super awesome compliments, and thanks for updating your stories! Oh, PLEASE help me by answering the question in bold up there… Thanks again!  
**Kage Ohkami**: …More compliments! (swelling ego) Please don't compliment this chapter, I hate it. Okay… The beginning was okay, but everything else was evil! Argh… Anyways, thanks for the wonderful… "neatness". Please answer my question (in bold up there..)  
**qadsjlkahsdf**: Umm… Interesting name ! Anyways, thanks for the nice compliments, I hope you'll help me out with my pressing question (the bold up there…)  
**Kigt:** Heh heh… -sheepish laugh- I'm really sorry about that. I think I'll go write that in at the top of the first chapter… The entire story is written TO Garfakcy. Thanks for reviewing, and if you read this chapter, I hope you'll answer my puzzling question!

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	9. Saving the Soul

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Author's Notes: Gotta be quick, 'cause it's past one in the morning. I wanted to update now, before I go away for spring break, so here I am. This chapter is… Well, it's special. You'll love it or you'll hate, and while I don't personally think this chapter is good, I hope you'll be on the love it side… Yes, it does go into Garfakcy's past, but don't worry, Kharl is still the one telling it. Don't ask how right now, just read! Anyway, I'm really sorry for the horribly long wait, and I hope you haven't forgotten me yet!

Disclaimer: In my dreams, I can own anyone I want!

Background Music: Simple and Clean (Utada Hikaru)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Nine-_  
Saving the Soul

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I wonder if the building is still standing. I wonder if a demon has wandered in there and tried to grasp what went on, or if the heavy scent of blood is still boiling in the darker corners, beneath the bed... I wonder if I could see the faces in the portraits, under the centuries of gathered dust. I'd like to see that place again. That room... Who knew a mortal's blood and building could be the foundations of a demonic-like eternity?

The usual oppressive heat of Kainaldia seems to have fled suddenly, and the blood-sopped toes of my boots feel like cold stone. He's not even dead. He's gone, the castle is in ruins, the red-tiled floor of this room is dotted in thousands of white feathers and ash, and I'm alone at its center, freezing, bleeding... It's not fair, really. One completely selfless act, and it costs me my life. I should have turned a blind eye. I should have locked my doors, ignored them... I should have just forgotten, moved on... But then, I'm a fool, and forgetting is damn near impossible for idiots like me. Three centuries cannot be erased in an eye blink, at least not if you want to keep your brain intact.

Three centuries... It _has_ been that long, hasn't it? A century, honestly, it's a snap of fingers in demon-time. But for you? I think you still haven't been able to grasp the concept that you could live forever. You still tell time in the human's way: days, months, years... I haven't made note of your mortal birthdate in two centuries—after the duration of a normal human lifespan, I simply stopped counting. You'll be... 310 years old on April 4th. Strange how I regret not doing the human things. I wish I'd said "Happy Birthday!" to you last year. I don't want you to think I don't remember.

I remember everything. Memories don't really fade, they hide in waiting for the proper time to be remembered. There are ones I wish had no proper time, but death seems incapable of picking them out, and I'm in no position to argue their removal from my mind. Remembering this all again… It's a distraction, really. I've been given this time to reflect on what I have, what I've lost, what I am leaving behind… But it's a poor distraction. I'm still bleeding, I'm still struggling for another breath, I'm still dying, and the images my mind throws back can do little to crush that realization.

What's that scent? A faint but sharp smell reaches me across the ash and overpowering scent of blood… Salt. Slowly, straining, I turn my head to the side. The puddle of blood in my mouth shifts too, some escaping my barely parted lips to join the crimson streams already snaking their ways down my chin. Salt… The blood that has worked itself way into my eyes blurs the great stone wall, and the shapes that stand near it. You are there: I can still pick out your small form, beside a raven-haired woman. Cesia? Salt…

"Are you crying?" I whisper, try to whisper, sending a fresh tide of vermillion liquid across my lips. _Are you crying?_ I'd asked the same thing that day…

It's funny how quickly things become routine. By the close of our second week, we'd already established a working order: You woke up, woke me up, you made breakfast from what I'd bought or made, went out work in the renewed garden, and I went off to ponder the problem of human strength and ash magic. The days were completely unimportant, uninteresting and not worth remembering in themselves. They were only examples of living; almost normal living. But on the eve of our third week, the perfect practice we'd established was shattered in a fate changing way.

The day had been tiring: I'd finally finished the spell defining ash weaponry. It'd been far harder than I'd expected—getting the dust to solidify into a coherent shape and remain there long enough to memorize the spell took incredible amounts of concentration. I'd missed your calls for lunch and dinner and I almost missed your quiet "Good night!" that barely made its way through my door, but I'd allowed the newly memorized spell to break down into its powdered form and wrapped it in a tiny brown sack just in time to reply with a weary "Good night," of my own.

Feeling incredibly satisfied –after all, one does not perfect an unexploited form of magic every day– I staggered up the stairs, tugged on an extremely baggy night shirt (whose shirt was this anyway?) and collapsed into bed. Youkai may need sleep less than humans do, but we cannot, by any means, live without it. By the time my thick comforter had fallen over my eyes, I was unconscious. Tragically, a decent night of sleep seemed not to be part of my destiny.

I thought it was the wind that woke me at first, because I didn't hear anything when I opened my eyes. The glass pane across the room warped the pale moonlight that drifted in from the West. Peaceful. Then I realized the air outside was still—no wind. Half a second later, a muffled wail sounded from down the hall. It worried me, and shaking off the last vestiges of fatigue, I hurried into the corridor. Despite the lack of light in your room, I could see you clearly, tangled in the bed sheets and shivering. A thin layer of cold sweat rolled across your skin, and you clutched at the pillows like lifelines.

"Mother..." The voice that mumbled it was broken and poignant. "Mother… sorry…" This was meant it to be human—these soft sad sleeping tears falling gently on white silk. And suddenly, I felt as if there was a wall of glass between us. I didn't understand, I couldn't feel any empathy; I could not be of any use. "STOP! I won't!" You shouted and the quiet trembles became frightening clawing and thrashings. And I stood, half way into the room, watching, voiceless and still. I couldn't move, my whole body, heart included, seemed to be crushed under a terrible weight. Never before had I ever felt so helpless. I was a demon, and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be human so I could do something, anything to stop the shouting, and free the air of the oppressive scent of fear. "Why? It's… not my fault…" That tremulous voice felt like the blade of a knife.

Then the sad whimpering turned into shouting again, and with pain in my sensitive ears, I knew, whatever my reservations about our differences, I couldn't let this continue.

"Garfakcy…" I called quietly, trying hard to shrug off the bottomless feeling of uselessness.

"Please…Please, it's dark!" I thought for a moment you'd woken up, but your eyes were still fluttering beneath closed lids.

"Wake up." I crossed the room a bit hesitantly, "Wake up." My voice was drowned out before it really escaped my mouth. You wouldn't wake up, and somehow, the thought of laying hands on you seemed almost sacrilegious.

What sort of dream, what sort of nightmare could affect you like this? And then, then came the sick sense of curiosity that has always been a part of me. _What_ sort of dream could do this? Even as a portion of me cried out in protest –the part that cared what you thought– a greater part writhed under in-bred youkai nature. It didn't matter that it could be considered manipulation, it didn't matter that it was an invasion of privacy, because I wanted to know. So, against the better sliver of the blood-stained abyss called my soul, I reached out and took control of your mind.

Those aren't the correct words for it, because although I did have complete control of the nerve impulses inside you that built dreams, my purpose was not to affect them, but to watch. What I'm trying explain surmounts to a simple idea: I shut my eyes to the real world, and opened them again inside the world of your subconscious. Inside your dream, my form was the same, albeit intangible—it was, after all, simply a manifestation of impulses from our point of contact. Functional, I turned my attention to the dream I had so rudely intruded upon. Can you possibly imagine what effect it had on me?

_It was sunny I realized, and the Plum trees that seemed to grow everywhere were in full bloom. Not much the setting for a nightmare. That's when I found the peaceful orchard wasn't empty. _

_"Mother! Mother!" A rather small child raced past me, tiny arms full of blossoms. It took me a few moments to realize that this brown-haired, hardly knee-high person was a younger you. "Mother, look what I brought you!" In the once empty corner of the dream –or was this a memory?– orchard, a woman was standing, pale blue eyes watching you race up. "I brought you flowers!" Was that—could you really smile like that, so broad and innocent? You held the blossoms out eagerly, emerald eyes almost shining with adoration for the thin-framed woman. Her reaction, however, was nothing like I expected. _

_"Stop it!" She hissed and knocked the flowers from your hands. "Stop looking at me!" Instantly, an intense feeling of dislike welled up in me. I expected the already familiar Garfakcy temper to flare up, but you dropped to your child's knees and began scooping up the fallen blooms. _

_"I'm sorry Mama, I forgot. I promise I won't do it again!" The woman, whose brunette hair matched your own almost identically, said nothing to acknowledge your vow…not to look at her? And then the orchard was gone, and there was only sudden darkness and a cold and disembodied voice. _

_"On this day, the 13th of the fifth month, this honorable court finds the servant Emaed, guilty of treason and personal slander against our noble Baron. The punishment for both the servant and the child in question is death, to be served by hanging on the 15th of this month." And the voice was drowned out by the terrified wailing of a sentenced woman. _

_The darkness took coherent shape again, forming itself into almost invisible grey steel bars and walls of brick. Before I could even see the shapes within this prison cell, soft weeping wound its way into my ears. Then you and your mother were there, on opposite sides of the tiny barred room. For a long time, crying was the only sound that pervaded the solemn, descending death sentence. But then, unable to stand the heavy silence any longer, you whimpered something incoherent. That seemed to be what she'd been waiting for, because instantly the crying was replaced with furious shouting. _

_"Don't look at me! Keep your eyes off me!" You turned your vivid green irises to the floor. "Bastard child! Bastard! This is all your fault! ALL YOUR FAULT!" _

_"I'm sorry Mother!" Your little plea only irked her further. _

_"Sorry? I'm going to die because of you! Die for the bastard I never wanted!" _

_"I'm sorry… I'm sorry!" You couldn't seem to say anything else to the enraged woman. _

_"I'm sorry you were born! I hate you!" The tears that had been threatening at the corners of your eyes spilled over and ran quickly down your cheeks. "I hate your eyes, just like his! Just like him! Your father—" She threw the word at you like a knife, "He'll become our executioner now! He'll have my body again—only this time I'll be dead! Because you were born, because you could damage his political chances! BECAUSE OF YOU!" And faster than I have ever seen a human move, she reached out and dealt you, tiny you, a merciless blow across the cheek. _

_"I'm sorry Mama." Dirt from the floor where you'd fallen clung to your wet face, mingling with the flowing dream tears. I though she was finished, because she stood over your limp form, breathing heavily without moving. But whatever hesitation had stilled her movements did not last long. The sickening sound of flesh striking flesh rang out again, again, echoed by stifled whimpers of pain and the repetitive pleading, "I'm sorry Mama… I'm so sorry…" _

_A cold sort of anger ran rampant through me. Disgusting! That woman disgusted me, who had many times tasted mortal blood. I wanted to see her hung! But that strangely icy anger became outright rage when your pleadings faded first into muffled wails and then into vibrant silence, all peppered by the sudden, sharp scent of fresh flowing blood. And even after you'd been rendered unconscious, she continued to batter you, shrieking obscenities. If this had not been only a horrible nightmare, I would have killed her, not simply because you were my companion, but also because you were her child –her flesh and blood– and she'd harmed you! Did humans not understand the meaning of such bonds? _

_To youkai, even the many who leave their young to fend for themselves, blood is an enduring tie—you do not harm anyone of your flesh, and if you are there, you don't allow others to harm holders of your blood, your kin. It's a matter of territory almost. And to attack someone you could call family would be almost unspeakable among youkai, despite the common place human rumors that we eat our children. Those mortal rumors paint us as monsters, but even with all the death I have wrought, I have never done anything as monstrous as that small human woman had. _

_And… when her anger was finally satiated, that repulsive woman went back to crying. _

_It was not long before a pair of guards wandered into the prison room with the intention of taking you and your mother to be hung. At first glance they seemed as real as everything else, but then I realized they were blurred at the edges—this was not a real memory. Probably you'd heard about the guards and what they'd done from someone else. _

_The iron barred door swung open and laughing at some comment you'd never invented, the men swaggered into your cell. Surprisingly, the hellish woman offered them no resistance. Even as the first guard forced her to her feet and led her away, she only wept softly into the hands that had beaten you. _

_"Oi!" The second guard called as he stood over your limp form. "Kid!" He seemed surprised by your lack of reaction and looking at you with greater focus, realized he was standing on blood-stained floor. Immediately, he knelt down and put a hand on your throat. "Damn…" He shook his head, stood up and muttered in disbelief, "That crazy bitch killed him." Not worried at all that a corpse might get up and walk away, he left the cell door open behind him. No doubt so that one of the servants could come by and get rid of the body. But that pretext required a body, and clearly, you weren't dead. The maid who came in to collect your corpse realized this right away and stood over you for a long moment—weighing her options, before gingerly picking you up and running out of the prison. _

_Then the dungeon-like room was gone too, replaced by a forest in the middle of autumn. It was excruciatingly peaceful compared to the dark place we had just been, and only shuffling footsteps broke the pleasant silence. The owner of said noise struggled into view a moment later—a young girl who would have been your age around that time fumbled through the trees with a huge foul smelling barrel in her arms. Something did not look right—the way her calf length maid's dress lie, the way her typical servant's cap was pulled low... _

_"Always!" The voice struck me, and I realized instantly that the dress clad figure I had mistaken for a human girl-child was actually you. "Always!" And that voice was very different from the pleading in the prison cell. You seemed to have suddenly reached your destination –a putrid hole in the forest floor– and you dropped the drum. With one hand shielding your human nose, you pulled the lid free and poured the contents down into the fissure. At the sight, I placed the dream-remembered smell. Organs. The barrel, and the hole too, were full of the rotting inner-parts of livestock. _

_That was right, humans disliked devouring those things. This place in the forest was a dumping ground for the bits left over by slaughter. And suddenly, the forest was gone and flashes of memories replaced them. Memories of jobs designated for the lowest of servants: slaughtering the animals for meals, cleaning out bodily refuse from the maid's quarters… Months of such things. But those mucky flashes were nothing to the swift glance I got of the windowless, tiny room you "lived" in. _

_The cramped hovel was airless, and when the sunset, you could see nothing inside. There were no candles, no hole through which to see the moon. There was only darkness and the sound of harsh disembodied whispering: _

_"You're dead. You're buried. Your mother went to her grave thinking she'd murdered you. Your father…" You could almost sense a wicked smile behind that voice, "Your father wanted you gone. What would he do if he knew you were alive, hiding among the servant girls? I could tell him. I could take you to him. Do you want to die? No? Do what I say. Do everything for me. Won't you?" And then your hesitating, aggravated answer: _

_"Yes." _

_The flashes became a solid image again, and the voice took a body, a servant headmistress, young but hardly beautiful. She was the one who'd handed out those menial tasks to you. We were in your dark room, and all I could see were the barely visible outlines of the servant headmistress and you. Immediately I noticed something wrong with the woman. She carried herself in a way I had never seen before, the smile and the glint in her eyes did not seem correct for the place. _

_"I could tell," She murmured, and the off-note in her voice sounded an implacable warning within me. "I could tell, and he would have you put down like an animal. But I can keep you safe. Will you do everything for me?" _

_"Yes." But you seemed to have noticed something too, because you shifted away from her uncomfortably. Her smile twisted into a frightening mock-grin, and she purred, _

_"Take off those clothes." The words rang sick on my ears, and the only coherent thing I could think was 'Filthy!' I almost broke the contact between us; I didn't want to see any more. Before I could move to end the dream, she'd caught a hold of your dress and forced her lips over your own. Even in the darkness, I saw you stiffen, and then she leapt back, cursing. "Bastard!" She howled, hands raised to her bleeding lip—you'd bitten her. Furious, the woman ripped at the collar of your dress. "Bastard! I'll tell him! I'll—" But a chilling voice that barely sounded like yours cut her off. _

_"D-Don't touch me. Don't touch me!" And you both looked surprised at the words coming out of your mouth. "I won't do everything—I won't do anything for you! I…I hate you!" You jerked free of her grip and slammed open the door of the dark room. Moonlight, made soft by night mist was a blessed shock, and without looking back, you escaped into the fog, leaving behind only another livid "I hate you!" _

_Was this the first time you'd said something like that? It must have been, because the words became an almost reassuring mantra in the darkness as you ran, panting, away from the revolting woman. "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" It was as if you were carving the words into your mind: remembering not only the way they sounded but the anger that fueled them. _

_The dream vision of your running faded, the moon and the wood were gone, and you were alone, clothes tattered, underfed, eyes red from lack of rest—or were they that way from shedding tears? Your thin form was propped up against a brick wall, in the air space between two of the town buildings. Laughing couples passed on the street, a carriage clattered down the road, but you remained oblivious. A man wandered on the sidewalk, right past you, muttering to his newspaper, _

_"Ah, tha' baron…" He disappeared, but his voice stayed with you, ringing softly, repetitively. That baron… _

_"Father?" Did the word sound unfamiliar to you? "Father… Mother hated me because of your eyes. Mother wanted me to go away. You wanted me to go away too. Mama… It's not my fault! I didn't do anything! I don't have to do anything! I don't have to! It's not my fault… It's his fault! It's everyone else's! I hate him! I hate them all…" A young girl laughed somewhere on the street. "I hate them all…" You moved to drop your head into the crook of your dirt-blackened arms, but jerked back at the unclean sight. "Dirty…" You mumbled, and I knew you applied the word to more than physical appearance. "Dirty… Everything is dirty! Everyone is dirty… Dirty! Dirty…" Your voice cracked, and I thought for a moment you might start crying. You only threw your head back against the wall, hard, instead, and tried to peer between the high buildings into the sky. "Someone…" Your tone was half plea and half demand, "Someone, please make it clean…" _

When I finally opened my eyes to the true world again, I caught myself whispering something you'd said yourself:

"I hate him!" And where my touch and presence had failed, this almost emotional murmur managed to wake you. You sat up a bit, confused and hating the darkness, and then your bleary emerald eyes fell on me. Those vibrant eyes I'd wanted to save, coincidence that those were the eyes that ruined your opportunity at a normal human life? The dream was still haunting you, I could tell by the way you moved, a little slow, a little unsure of reality. The nightmare stayed with me too, making it almost painful to look at you. I didn't understand what I was feeling. I could hardly understand emotions when they came one at a time, and dream had brought them on overwhelmingly. Sympathy, disgust, sadness? Something inside me wanted to make everything better, but I didn't understand. How could I possibly put into words all the things I wanted to say? For the first time, I wanted to comfort someone, and I did not know how. I sat beside your bed, silent, but unwilling to just leave without doing _something_.

"Lord Kharl? Did I—I'm sorry if I woke you up."

"I'm sorry…" _'I'm sorry Mother…'_ "I'm sorry…" The words sounded different when they fell awkward and unused, from my lips. Were these the words that could explain what I felt? Somehow, they seemed to fix very little. They had not saved you from her; they had not brought you new eyes or a new bloodline. They had never made the darkness any more light. They had not made her hate you any less. Hatred. The memory of that woman set my fangs on edge. Her own life was so precious that young of her blood meant nothing? But had she even really seen you as her flesh and blood? She was not such an exceptional case—a master taking advantage of a servant was hardly an uncommon event, even among youkai. But… humans care for their children. They do not extract vows that cannot be kept, they do not beat their children… they do not sentence them to death.

What sort of human –what sort of soul– could send their consort and kin to hang on the gallows? Not a human, not a youkai… Only a monster. And quick, sharp hatred coursed through me again. This baron, who took a mate and killed a mate on whim, this man that could send his mortal son to death, this man who spell suffering for an entire village… I hated this man and his brilliant green eyes, so unlike yours in meaning. Did he know, would he care, that his child was alive; that the boy he had sentenced to hang, the boy who'd almost caught death at his mother's hands had slipped away both times, into my hold? Why had he never felt that icy grip of mortality? Had no one ever tried to take his life?

I wanted him to feel it. I wanted quite suddenly to show him the extent of his insignificance. I wanted him to realize how small he was beside me, my kind, and the rest of the world… I wanted to crush him. Hatred, ridiculous emotion really, but undeniable. And why not kill him? I was more suited for life, more determined…

Then the soft, dark inner voices bared their fangs. What right had I interfere in your affairs? Why should I have the pleasure of harming him?

_"I'll kill you! I'll kill you all!"_

I knew a contemptuous smile had danced its way on to my face. Wouldn't it be ironic? Wouldn't it be perfect? You watched me, confused, obviously curious and concerned that I had been watching you sleep.

"If," my pale eyes met your own, "If I were to give you the means, would you take them? Would you kill him?" I expected some confusion, some hesitation, but there was nothing like that. With the visions of the nightmare almost reflected in your emerald eyes, you said boldly, wide awake,

"Give me a sword, and I'll do it now." The look that passed between us then was one I'll never forget. There was something like unity in it—we both wanted the same thing, hated the same thing; both of us were plotting a murder. For the first time, we were agreed with needing to speak. And that sort of togetherness of intention and purpose has happened so few times between us that I think I could count the instances all on one hand.

I stood, and I knew the day to come would be one of serious thought and magic. You would wield my weapon for the first time. Tomorrow you would not be human Garfakcy, but a tool of destruction.

"Go back to sleep." And the darkness of the room was pierced harshly by moonlight when I passed into the hall.

Dawn brought me not only the sun but a twisting sense of urgency. _Tonight_, I decided over an absolutely delicious human food called pancakes, _Tonight we'll go together into the village_. When I came to you after breakfast with the little bag of ash and told you it would give you magical ability, you looked at me as if I was insane.

It took almost an hour for you to reach the point where you could turn the ash into a weapon, maintain it, and break it apart again. By the third hour, you were experimenting with its width and length by altering the thoughts that brought it up from the dust. Surprisingly, you needed little work with actual blade use—being in charge of slaughtering livestock had made you quick and accurate. Of course, you were hardly a master, but for a human child, I was impressed. The day seemed horribly long—I was so eagerly anticipating meeting the man who had almost run me over a few weeks ago that each minute felt like an hour. Another doll target –so quickly put together by you– was cruelly cut down. And another, and another…

The moon rose full and orange on the horizon, and the stars nearest to it seemed to shine brighter. A warm breeze brought scents of the not so distant ocean. A beautiful night, really. The leaves of the wood rustled playfully as we passed almost silently beneath them. You didn't speak at all as we wandered toward the village. Were you lost in imagining the meeting, or did you simply not trust your own voice?

When the village outskirts came into view, you hesitated slightly, not from fear or sudden indecision, but from an unwillingness to return to the place that had been your hell. But I was clear of the wood line and waiting for you on the rutted dirt road. Seeing me there inside the invisible line you had drawn separately wilderness from civilization (youkai from human?), had an effect on you that I can't explain: it was as if my being there had destroyed a part of the spell of sick humanity your memories painted this place to have. The village was silent, the windows dark—this was a people who worked hard to live, and here sleep was desperately needed.

Never have you walked so silently; even my youkai ears barely registered your light but visibly unsteady steps. What was it that was making your knees shake so sharply? I thought it might be nervousness about seeing the man who'd destroyed your chances, but the glint in your brilliant eyes told another story. The corners of your narrowed green depths reflected the moon, staining them a strange shade of orange and making them look all together hungry. So that was what it was: eagerness. I turned away and let the scent –lingering from your dreams of his domain– lead us silently through the town.

His castle wall was high, higher than one might expect for a normal manor. But, this was Arinas, wasn't it? This man offered the villagers no protection, but spared no expense at fortifying his own home. Ridiculous—I could easily slam my hand through the thick stone wall if I had the mind to, and I had never been a physically inclined youkai. But, then again, we were not here to attract the attention of the entire village, so the gate seemed like the best choice.

The padlock was metal. How easy were they going to make this? They ought to have made it out of some hard organic substance like bone—the thicker parts of the skeleton, particularly demon skeletons, are incredibly dense composites of calcium phosphate and complex carbons, bound at the molecular level. That would have been hard to manipulate, but I suppose he wasn't expecting a demon to march right through his gates, much like he wasn't expecting you… A quick pass, a built-in mutter, and the lock's electrons and protons rearranged themselves to form carbon atoms, and then were forced to bond into the correct chains…

The once metal padlock blew away as a dancing spiral of jade leaves. The creak of the gates rusting hinges shattered our perfect silence, but it returned quickly enough: no one moved on the vast lawns sprawled out before us. There was the orchard, still standing, dark and unwelcoming in the night. Why did I expect to see her there? Where were the guards? I stopped to look more sharply at our surroundings and was rewarded by the distant sound of slurred laughter and shouting. So the men were off somewhere enjoying themselves. All the easier for us.

The front steps were thick and marble, ideal for any man of high status, and like every mortal castle, there were far too many of them. By the time we reached the top, you were panting lightly. Of course his main doors could be nothing short of intimidating. They were enormous, even compared to me, and carved of thick red wood. Behind their faces, the doors were held in place by a cross-wise metal bar. In their effort to protect themselves more, the fools had sealed their fate. In the still and silent main hall, the giant iron bar exploded into a flurry of leaves as green as your eyes. You never asked once how I did it; you never even blinked as you stepped through the pile. Were you too occupied to notice, or had you already grown used to magic?

The passageways were dark, devoid of people but filled with all the finery one might expect—imported antique vases, busts, tapestries… nothing important. It was my nose that led us up the stairs, and I have often wondered why you followed so obediently. It was your home, not mine. It seemed as if we climbed the stairwell forever, step after step. But then there we were, and only a wall separated us from his weak life force. I reached out a pale hand and turned the unlocked knob. It was late, I thought he would have been asleep, but there he was, standing and staring at us from across the room, eyes wide in concern. Seeing him was like seeing an older (and self-gratifying) version of you. Locking eyes with him for you must have been like looking in a mirror. No one moved at all for the longest moment, and then he reached out and snatched a letter-opener off the desk. His voice, very different from yours, barked angrily,

"Who are you? I won't take visitors at a time like this!" But he must have sensed something about us: he sounded like a very confidant man who had suddenly been stripped of all his defenses.

"Be assured sir," I almost chuckled, "You will attend to our visit. It does, after all, concern your imminent death."

"W-What?" And he looked taken aback. With a glance to you –to guarantee you would not throw yourself at him in a rage– I crossed the room, quite near to him (Oh, how he tensed!) and sat myself deftly, gently on the edge of his richly swath bed. "What the hell! Who are yo-"

"Father." Your voice was not what I expected it to be: there was no eager tremble there, no anger, only a chilling sort of playfulness. "Father, I've missed you." It was almost too perfect. He glared between your small form and mine, frustrated and aghast at our sudden invasion.

"Guards! Guards!"

"They're far away." I let him interpret my smile on his own. He got as far as spotting the fangs and stopped calling. My, that hiss was his was so articulate.

"Youkai! You're here to assassinate me!" I couldn't help myself anymore, I laughed out loud, and he brandished the blunt weapon as if to defend himself from my voice.

"One of two. Youkai, of course. Assassination? Not by my hands."

"Then what do you-"

"Tsk, you jump ahead. Are you that eager to die? I said 'not by my hands'. The one who will have the pleasure of taking your life is watching us, with an incredible amount of patience, right now." As if following orders, he rounded on you.

"What sort of sick joke-"

"Ah, Father, I'm hurt. You don't remember me?"

"You're crazy! You're both deranged! Guards!"

"Father-"

"I don't have a son!" He shouted, and it rang on silence.

"Don't you?" You pulled back the black strands of your hair. "I guess it's hard to remember someone you never wanted in the first place." His forest green eyes were wide and dilated.

"Impossible…" His tanned skin paled visibly, and the letter-opener in his hand shook. "He's dead… He was buried…"

"The dead, they say, walk more often than the living." He didn't even turn back to look at me as I spoke.

"I should be dead, shouldn't I? It would be better for you, because I could tell the central government, couldn't I? About you and Mother. She hated you! Because of you, she hated me! You took everything from me—a home, love, Mother, and you would have taken my life too. Mother beat me for the only thing you ever gave! You're the one… You're the one who made everything dirty!" And as your voice grew louder, magical ashes escaped the bag and formed the immaculate long knife you were used to using. Yes, why not, slaughter him like swine.

"Boy-"

"Do you even know my name?" The man continued as if he had not just been interrupted:

"Child—you don't understand anything! Politics are best left in the hands of those who can use them."

"You used politics to hang Mother. You used politics to drain the village dry. You used politics to justify murder. Do I understand enough?" You lifted the knife into an attack position.

"You little bastard!" Your father sneered, but I saw a line of sweat snake down the side of his face, and he seemed to have shrunken in his cloak. "This was why I wanted you gone! If you go to the King—you're just like her, loving trouble. You should have died with that whore you call-" It was too much, quite suddenly, for you to bear. Infuriated by his manner as much as his degrading words, you lunged. The room was big, but much of it had been taken up by fancy furniture, and he was weak man really, not physically gifted at all.

Within three minutes, he was dying. What a sight to be witness to! The blood had gone everywhere: across the walls, the mirrors, the expensive rug, you… He gasped for breath, and you stood over him silently, hands at your side, head bowed to look down at his quickly clouding eyes.

"Soul…" He panted, "Sold your soul…to the Devil…" But wasn't it the other way around? He was human, the chosen race of God, but he was the one who had consigned you to hell. I was the Devil, true, but was it not me who had come to make things better? Was this the selling or the saving of a soul?

Just so simply, a mortal life was extinguished, and the ring of steel and cries of pain faded into quiet. I could think of nothing to say: what words are there to fill the air after the murder of one's father? You stared down into his open eyes, those eyes, and I realized you were trembling. The soft scent of salt lanced through the room. The scent of human tears…

"Garfakcy, are you crying?" My voice was distant, not disapproving. You turned your bloody cheeks and emerald depths to me, and there were indeed tears there, but there was also a shaking smile.

"I'm happy." You promised, and I didn't understand. Outside, the moon finally broke over the wall, and showered the blood-stained room with cold silver-orange light. The bloodied edge of the long knife glittered for a moment, and then it turned into fluttering ashes again. There was stillness—was this mortality, counting the breaths, being in this bloody dirtiness? I wanted to be rid of it immediately.

"Garfakcy," I murmured, and the idea that I had been turning over in my mind chose its time to escape. "I can give you anything—I can give you eternity." Do you want to leave these mortal confines behind? "Would you like to live forever with me?" The tears were drying on your cheeks.

"I would like to live forever." It was a trivial thing of me to ask—how could you possibly turn it down? But it was the asking –the offer of an escape from human weakness in weakness' finest example– that made all the difference.

In one night you dealt with the man behind your pain, soiled your hands with human blood for the first time, and escaped the last chain that bound you to the hell of human mortality. Into what new hell I had brought you was yet to be seen… There was silence again, but it was almost pleasant this time, until you spotted your stained clothes.

"Look at me," You growled, "I'm filthy!" And I knew the word didn't have the double meaning any longer.

I stood and left the room, and the invisible leash between us brought you with me, into the warm darkness and away from the hungry orange moonlight that seemed to be lapping the blood off the floor.

It felt like only minutes had pasted before we were at our castle doors, and only another few minutes before you'd run off to the baths and I'd gone into the library to find the music box. Even holding a miniaturized eternity in the palm of my hand didn't slow down time, and I soon I was following your night-robed form down the hall into your room.

I waited, as had become our custom, for your "Goodnight," and then handed one of the dark pills to you.

"Eat it." I could see the fatigue blurring your deep eyes. "I'll explain tomorrow." Swiftly, you swallowed a hundred years of life. "Goodnight Garfakcy." I went into the hall again and shut the door behind myself. Using another human euphemism, I said softly, "Have sweeter dreams tonight."

And at that moment, having given away eternity and sweet dreams, it felt very much like the saving of a soul.

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Author's Notes: Um... (Is hiding!) Please don't hate me. But… what did you think? There were some parts that I hated sooo much I just wanted to toss this whole chapter out. Please, tell me what you think! Also, some people will happy to know that I received the hand-written version of chapter four of Where We Are (if you haven't read it, do that now!), and will be beta-reading it on my long drive to Las Vegas. Ah, spring break is a wonderful thing. Anyway, I have to go, like now, cause it's almost one in the morning… Dammit, I HATE not being able to indent my paragraphs... Doesn't anyone know how!

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Review Responses:

**Kitsusama:** Oh yes, please do draw that scene for me (Is rolling at the thought). I'd love to see it. I'm sorry that this chapter was Garfakcy past, but it was still just Kharl telling it… You aren't mad at me, are you? Please, I hope you liked this!  
**Kharl Fanatic:** First words: your name kicks ass. Second words: I'm sorry, and thank you so much! I'm sooo flattered that you would actually check! I really, really hope you liked this chapter... It's a little… umm… Yeah.  
**Aquajogger:** Gil, oh Gil… You see, I was confused because they didn't say the Dragon Knight_s_ killed it, they said it was "offed by a bugger named Rath", which made me think that not only was Rath's name not widely known, but that he had been alone, meaning it was more likely that he'd not been offed, but turned into… I also thought the "rampaging demon" was Rath because the only time a demon has ever been referred to as the "demon who rampaged through Dusis" they always mean Rath… It doesn't matter, I'm going with your idea anyway, 'cause it's just so much easier. Thanks so much for helping, and for liking my last chapter. I hope you like this one just as much, or more?  
**Kage Ohkami:** Aiiee… (Bursting from too many compliments!) Umm… thank you very much. I REALLY hope you like this chapter… It's sorta hit or miss. You like it or you hate it. I'm on the "hate it" side…

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	10. Death Dance Interlude

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Author's Notes: Hehm... Wow. Don't kill me. I know I haven't updated this fanfiction in like forever. There was just so much going on! I mean, first with the books being so awfully translated, and then me moving, and getting all new sorts of classes and FINALLY starting to write the Naruto fanfiction I've been dying to write since I first watched the series a year and a half ago… My website also completely crashed, losing me 400 files which I had to spend MANY, many hours re-coding from scratch… Oh, and I started making an anime. Yes, a real one, with real voice actors and a soundtrack. Aw, the wonders of university technology! Oh, and my cat died. So anyway, that's my long list of excuses. Basic summary, I'm really sorry I took this long, and you have a very good friend of mine to thank for this update. If it wasn't for her incredible strangling powers, this chapter would never have gotten done. (That was not a joke.) I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's not the best, and I mean that literally, but it's not the worst. This is what you get when my interest wanes because of pathetic translations by the evil that is Tokyopop.

Disclaimer: It took me six months to write one chapter. If I was the real author, and I did this, there'd never be a series. Bottom line: I can't write this properly, so there's no need to sue me.

Background Music: Watashi no Taiyou (Hungry Heart Wild Striker!)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Ten-_  
Death Dance Interlude

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Things were never the same. I thought I had done something untouchable, something perfect in the eyes of all. What, in truth, had I done? My light eyes, my dark heart failed miserably to perceive the impact. Human blood underneath your pale human fingernails.; mortal life drying in the space between the soles of your feet and your dark boots. Pierced veins spilling directly into your heart... I made you a murderer. Revenge. Revenge. Redemption stolen. How was I know what I had incited there? I was a youkai. I didn't understand humans. I still don't. For me, for all youkai, all things have purpose. Every murder, every battle, every instinct serves a greater aim; even if that aim is only to survive, all things rest on unchanging, eternal goals. A youkai's dreams—to eat, to live, to survive, to carve from death and sunshine an existence worth living...

Human beings are so different. Your lives are too short for greater goals; tiny flashes of momentary light in an unending and impenetrable darkness. You, who expect death around every corner, cannot possibly hope to live lives like youkai. Death... I never thought I would ever have to face the like of it. I always presumed I would live to the end of the world—maybe even beyond then. And I came to believe you would always be there, a given, a crooked viridian-eyed smile that was as I was: unending. But even the years, even the eternal youth did not make you any less a human. Where I moved on the youkai plain, the plain of understanding where time soothes everything, you moved only to a human extent: time was ever an enemy, life in the end held little value.

I was blind. I thought immortality could change your basic nature. But humanity is not a disease that can be cured by cheating death. You still were prey to human feeling, human desire, human ignorance. Blind mortal feeling that shocks me even when I find myself suffering from it. Lust more than any others became your mortal crime. Lust for life, for perfection, for stability, for blood! My greatest sin is there, lain bare. In that one moment in the forest, blood drying in crimson raindrops on my bone white cloak; that one moment where I bowed to childish whim... It was as if the devil himself had sunk claws into you. How could I ever have believed I'd protected you, healed you, seared mortality from your flesh by allowing you to sully those infant hands of yours?

I made a murderer out of a child, and I thought I had done something good. I have always made myself into an angel. An angel of bloodshed, but a thing nonetheless an untouchable and whole, above others. If I had, for one moment, stopped to think about the things that truly required my attention—the freedoms and wills of humans; of Dragons—I know I would not be here, the object of regretful and hateful eyes. If I had stopped to think that the rush of death and battle might excite in your weak human passions a desire for death that paled my own, I would never have taken you there that night. If I had seen in Rath a confused child, a frightened child... If I had ever thought to look beyond my own expectations... Selfish. So selfish—I made myself the core of a slowly revolving tempest, devouring others and burying them thoughtlessly below; played with others like a grand puppeteer. If I had for one second thought to consider the world from a pair of leaf green eyes, or a pair of crimson red... How many could have been spared? How many could have gone on with oblivious, undarkened lives? How _happy_ could we have been?

How happy were you that night, with that broad, clear smile splashed across your bloodied face? How happy were you when the last of his blood washed away, when you closed your eyes to sleep in the castle of an angel, far away from the castle of the corpse? How white were the walls in your dreams? How many times did you replay that scene in your mind? How glorious did you make that graceless death dance? Three hundred years later, today, how do remember your first murder? I don't remember mine. Human, demon, fairy? My memory fails me. Five centuries of death have made the first strike meaningless. Five centuries of life are now made meaningless by a single decision. Or was my life pointless to begin with? In the end, how much have I changed this realm? The faeries will return, you will die, the thousands who fell beneath my claws will be forgotten... Arinas has begun to bloom again. In another five centuries, will children be told bedtime stories of Dragon Knights and the fallen angel?

"Master Kharl?" The voice was far away, quiet, but latent with a quivering excitement. "Master Kharl?" It was your voice, from beyond my carved bedroom door. The morning sunlight filtered too cleanly through the window, too bright and warm for the night it had been born from. The sky ought to have been red, stark, with a watery grey sun rising through a bloody mist. Why did the day give no indication of the goings of the night? The orange moon had stolen away all the sin? "Breakfast is ready." You called again, rapping sharply on the fleur de leis above my doorknob. The impatience finally forced my pale eyes from the window, and sluggishly, not from fatigue but simply because there was no need to rush, I dragged myself to the door.

You were dressed already, and 'tsk'ed at my lack of proper day attire. I admit, my choice of night clothes always had been a bit eccentric. The first time I'd come yawning into the hall, you'd accused me of dragging the bed sheets out too. A little laugh escaped me, and your impossibly green eyes blinked slowly up at me, missing the humor. It had taken a good ten minutes to convince you that someone could sleep in so much material, and not get _completely_ tangled up.

"I'll be down in a minute." I mumbled, half into the oak doorframe, and half through my pale hand that independently found its way up to rub my eyes. A quick nod and you scurried away, expertly choosing the correct turn and stairwell that would take you to the kitchen.

The sun seemed just as warm in the kitchen, promising a windless day. I could see your wide, angled leaf eyes darting up from the syrup drenched pancakes, intently peering through the dusty glass of the high windows. How like a bird you looked, pale face and yellow bangs bobbing ridiculously as you swooped to peck pastry from your fork and then lancing back up just as quickly. I almost laughed, unable to stop myself from being amused by your human antics. If you had wanted me to miss your wistful stares, you'd failed miserably.

The warm day beckoned to you as it never would to me—like moth to flame. Humans are all like that, inexorably drawn to light. Warmth of skin... Do they see it as a brief respite from the chill that death might bring? To stare into the white sun, is it, for mortals, a brief taste of immortality? What was the sunlight for you then? You, my immortal human... How was it to feel the light on skin that would never age; to stare at the sun with eyes that would never fade? Yet you never seemed to miss it, the mortal love of sunshine. Dyed with the crimson colors of night, and you still smiled into the sun as if light meant something. Immortal mortal, smiling at the sun which meant nothing to me; grinning at the warmth which meant no brief respite for me. Always human, smiling human.

"Let's go out today." I mused to my goblet, sounding a little thoughtless and distant. Your head jumped from the dark wood of the table to my light eyes, surprise as evident as pleasure there. Left Bird and Right Bird, playful as they are, bobbed delicately feathered heads in agreement from where they perched together on the wide windowsill. You nodded quickly, allowing the force to shake your arm as well as it pulled the empty fork from your mouth. I said nothing else, and breakfast finished itself in hurried silence. I could feel your impatience to be outside, under the sunshine. _How strongly the night cries for light..._

You cleared the plates away in record time, even for you, and I could see just how badly you wanted to out of the darkness of the castle. It was odd—it did not bother me that you would rather be outside than in—it was amusing, although I had the sense to know that I should have been unhappy with this. You ran to my side, the birds trailing silently behind you, beating to stay aloft in the still air of the room, and your smile -so innocent- made me glad I had not chosen to devote the day to research.

The outside air was warmer than I'd anticipated; for a moment I regretted wearing the over-cloak, then my youkai body acclimated itself to the temperature, and it was like any other day. You, however, crossed the castle threshold panting, and your tiny brown jacket was thrown aside quickly. Shadows crisscrossed the front walk as the birds swum lazy circles above us, providing fleeting relief from the glaring heat. And though your small form wilted under the intense light, I could catch a smile amid your panting that belittled the temperature.

Your mortal skin reveled in the white daylight, but you could not stifle the relief that must have washed over you as we stepped into the first patches of shifting leaf-shaped shade. But it wasn't until the trees grew close enough together to offer us some makeshift canopy that you slipped the thin brown material back across your shoulders and stopped breathing like an overheated dog. Weak little human, almost endearing.

Your eyes were delightfully bright, shining with a rare, strong smile. When was the last time you'd actually gone out because you wanted to, assured that the open doors and warm home would not vanish if you left them? Had you ever really had the chance to enjoy yourself without worry? It made no sense, I was glad suddenly that we'd murdered the man. Humans have such a short time... Why would they ever want to make others of their kind suffer? I shook my head once, a cascade of soft lilac strands ghosted across my cheek, and you peered up at me, confusion dulling your grin momentarily.

"Where will we spend the day?" I was asking myself more than you; you could not possibly know much about the Arinain landscape beyond your human village. Nonetheless, you turned your emerald eyes to the dead leaves crunching beneath our feet, deep in thought as to how the day would be wiled away. Neither of us had an answer, but I knew the path we were taking would run to the sea.

You seemed to notice soon enough—your steps faltered, you took a deep breath, sniffling at the sudden sharp smell of salt and sun-warmed water. Your pointed nose wrinkled childishly, not only from the strong smell but from sudden application of memory, as if some important sliver of past was expertly eluding you. The trees ended sharply, stealing away the shade but ushering in a hard, crisp breeze riddled with the husky calls of seabirds. It swept out before us, an endless expanse of water, blending with the shore in sand brown swells that licked back and forth perpetually. I heard your breath catch, just quickly, and then you were ahead of me, green eyes dancing greedily over the flat horizon, smile inviting the harsh taste of salt onto your tongue. The waves sounded a stark serenade in my ears, and I wondered briefly if your human body heard them as I could.

"Have you been to this place before Garfakcy?" Right bird flashed out over the cliffs, dancing upward in the thermals over the hot sand.

"Once," you muttered, "When I was very young. Mother..." Whatever you were going to say never crossed your lips, and I resisted the urge to say that you were still "very young". We settled ourselves gently on one of the cliffs edges and if you had any fear of falling, it didn't show. For a long while there were only the waves and gulls, and your quiet breath. Then I murmured unbidden,

"Master once told me that there is another land across this sea. A land of tall mountains, where it is often cold enough to freeze falling rain. There are Dragons there, and Faeries—a whole kingdom." You stared outward now with a different look, as if you were straining to see the foreign shores. "Let's go there one day." And I knew a smile had crept onto my face at the prospect of new and unknown things. The vibrant silence fell again, and I momentarily stared off across the sea exactly as you had, desperately wishing I would spot what not even youkai could see.

"I heard once that there're three big pillars right in the middle..." You sounded unsure, as if the information was flittering back and forth between rumor and reality.

"The Three Poles of the Beginning." I had not even known I knew of them, but the correct name fell from my lips as facts are oft to do. You nodded briefly, as if you'd heard the name and just now recalled it. More information came to mind unbidden, and I could not remember if I had read about the pillars or if Master had spoken of them.

"Is it true that there's one for every-" You began, but fell silent as I finished your thought for you.

"Great race. Faeries, Demons, Dragons... Maybe the poles are testament to a time when the species stood together." I knew the smile on my face was a little wicked, a little doubtful that a moment of peace between Demons and Faeries had ever existed.

"And humans?" The question was quiet, as if you were trying to fake disinterest. My answer was slow in coming and I stared out over the glittering sea before answering.

"The poles were not raised without foundation." You turned to blink at me, surprised that my reply was clear of cynical indifference. "Without a base to hold it clear of the tide, even the mightiest race might crumble into the sea." You blinked again, eyes almost unfocused as you processed the heavy implications of my statements. As a pair the birds swept downward in a spiral dance, black feathers whispering back and forth in the aquamarine expanse.

When had the sun slipped so far across the sky? We'd skipped lunch, and though I didn't need it, I was already missing the taste of those sweet teacakes you made... You seemed content watching the waves, and I said nothing of leaving until the wind picked up, throwing over us crisp salty gusts that made you shiver visibly. Even then, you seemed reluctant to leave the sun-warmed cliffs, and stared over your shoulder as we left the place, breathing deep the scent of salt and foreign shores.

It was later than I'd expected, and the forest shadows were long and dark, suspiciously devoid of vagrant patches of sun. It was beginning to cool, giving the wood an air of sunset, though that was at least an hour away. You scuffed through the dead ground cover, trying hard to act like a mature young human, quite capable of remaining reserved, even in the face of leaves begging to be kicked. The crunching was a snappy chorus in my ear, and I did not fail to see the smile creep onto your face as a particularly large leaf crumbled under foot. I couldn't comprehend it, it intrigued me to no end—the duplicity of your simple human mind. One moment your jade eyes burnt with a sharp, cold determination to prove yourself to me, to those who had always doubted you... And the next moment, the green was a warm blaze of child-like amusement and a stubborn streak to rival my own.

It struck me as odd; I could have written a novel just about the expressions on your face. I must have looked a little lost then, a little put out—it bothered me briefly that my eyes were not like yours. My eyes were that of a proper youkai's, showing of the barest flashes of anything, hardly serving as tools communication at all. A sudden urge -a stupid one- bled into me. I wanted to be Avis Rara. I wanted to be human. I wanted my smile to brighten eyes that could burn with amusement. You crushed a twig; the feeling passed as swiftly as it had come, leaving me appalled with myself. I did not want to be human, I never had. I did not want to have anything less than pure youkai blood maintaining my form. A patch of sun lit the back of my cloak momentarily, and I knew that was what had started me thinking crazy things. I did not want to be human—I wanted to be warm. I wanted my smile to be as real as your own.

There was a sudden flash of fur, a sudden glint of a feral gaze, and you leapt back, as taken with surprise as I was. A weasel, frozen in a mockery of defense, bore its sly dark eyes into mine, assessing the danger. You were almost forgotten as it peered at the creature it had deemed 'predator'. I stared back, momentarily trapped by its gaze, which seemed to convey to me an intelligence I could not understand or reach. It was _analyzing_ me, searching for weak places, deciding in its tiny mind on what sort of threat I posed. It was surveying me as an _animal_ that had invaded its territory. That piercing gaze began to feel distasteful, but I could not look away. Overhead, Left Bird changed branches. The rodent looked up, and the spell was broken. I took a small step forward; the deep brown animal disappeared into the brush again without as much as a rustle of leaves. You blinked once, confused because you had not been privy to look the creature and I had shared. I made to move on, intent on reaching the castle before dark, but you bent low, examining a splattering of grey among the fallen leaves.

"It dropped it." You realized the grey bits were feathers from a recently caught bird. It was tiny, and dead; its dark eyes were half shut and glassy. You stared at it, and the look on your face was something odd, a little cold, and a little too superior, as if you wanted to taunt the limp body for not flying fast enough. I bent and plucked the wet-feathered form from the leaves, liking how white my palms looked beside its muddy-colored wings. "Gah, Master Kharl, put that down! They have all sorts of bugs!" You balked at it now that it was close enough to touch you, and I knew that was just your cleanliness leaking through again.

It wasn't sympathy that made me do it. The stiff little form was of no interest to me, really. Perhaps it was because I had always liked birds. Perhaps it was curiosity, or boredom. Whatever the cause, I acted without thought, and I regretted it later. I called Right and Left Bird from the branches to rest near me, and without the slightest hesitation, dipped into the deep reserve of my youkai power. I felt the answer immediately, and the birds bated swiftly, offering their energy without the slightest command. I could feel the cold flesh between my fingers, but my eyes had slid closed, focused on setting the youki in right pattern, sewing up a soul with an ease that was far too practiced. Looking back, I realize how foolish that bit of power was. I had not even thought of what you would see, what you would think... Humans are not often witnesses to the most beautiful practices of youkai power, and I was not surprised to open my pale eyes and find you staring wide-eyed at me, as if I had suddenly worked a miracle.

I heard a soft, inquisitive 'chirp' and the bird perched on one my delicate fingers ruffled its feathers impatiently, awaiting orders. Your hand, which had frozen when I'd performed the simple magic, was shaking slightly.

"Alive." Oh, the grin on my face must have been so superior! "You brought it back from the dead." Your voice was monotone, as if you felt your eyes were lying to you.

"No," I denied, a bit regretfully, "I'm not a healer. I can't save something that's been lost."

"But-" And now you seemed willing enough to defend the life of the creature cheeping in my palm.

"I didn't bring it back. I replaced it, look." I held the animal out to you, and for the first time you noticed the tiniest differences that stood out boldly to me. The creature's small eyes had gone a garnet red; its claws had become sharper, more like tools of war. The wounds had not healed, but now the bird did not seem to mind at all the holes that had taken its life previously. "I've made it—"

"A demon." You stared it, and I surprised by your interest. You were not supposed to be in awe of this power. You were not supposed to still be looking as if you'd witnessed a miracle. You were a human, and humans were supposed to fear the gifts of monsters. You were supposed to hate me for manipulating the tiny corpse, like some grim puppeteer in a grand show. I worried suddenly, when you took the bird from me, gracing it with a smile that you had never given it in its death. You looked up at me quickly, and your green eyes seemed to be veiling something. The little bird snuggled against your thumb; you regarded me as you never had before. "You're powerful." And it came across your lips as if the idea was new. "You can make other demons. There aren't even stories about youkai that strong." And suddenly, I was uncomfortable, as if I had been hiding something, and my secret had just been revealed. I hadn't been keeping secrets really, I just had not expected youkai to be of any interest to you.

"Yes, I am strong." I took the bird from you and released it, with silent orders that it enjoy itself, and I knew my tone had been a bit colder than I wanted. Unsure of why, I simply marked it off as a bit of frustration at your odd reaction. Despite the fact that I felt as if I'd ended the conversation, I heard you mutter as I started to walk away,

"Can you make anything into a demon? Anyone?" I blinked, thoroughly startled by the question. Could I make anyone into a demon? Yes. But why ask that? Your question was rhetorical, or at least, you did not seem to mind too much when I did not answer. Finally, you tore your eyes off the place where the tiny flapping youkai had sat in your hand and locked gazes with me. It reminded me awfully of the clever weasel sizing up the larger animal. "What kind of demon _are_ you?" You stared quietly for a few moments, and then as if you didn't care about my reply at all, looked away. I was shaken, though I was careful not to show it. _What kind of demon are you?_

I didn't know.

The air had grown chilly sometime in our interrupted trip back to the castle, and it was clearly a welcome relief for you to be back inside the warm castle. The birds disappeared upstairs with graceful flaps of their wide wings, no doubt going in search of the stores of food reserved solely for them. The room was eerily silent; I found myself in no mood to make pleasant conversation. I did not particularly like the fact that you had managed to shake me. I was the youkai. I was the smarter, stronger, more perfect one, yet you and a tiny mammal had felt the need to stare at me as if I was some sort of rare creature on display. I wasn't angry, only slightly perturbed. In any case, I was not ready for a tiny fist to grip iron-like to the back of my cloak.

"Master Kharl..." Your voice was remarkably quivering, quite unlike the coldly curious tone you'd struck only a few minutes ago. "Can you make anyone a demon?" There was a pause, one I unsure how to fill, and then you almost pleaded, "Make me like the bird. Make me a _youkai_, please!" I was frozen, listening to the demand ring in my head repeatedly.

"No." My answer was harsh, abrupt, and you stepped back in shock at the strength of it. I was not thinking clearly, I was not thinking at all. I could not let you become like me. I could not let you lose the warmth of humanity, when there was no mortality for you fear. I could not tear from you the vestiges of life that made your smile sincere and your eyes alive. I could not. Ever. "No." I repeated, softer this time, though only slightly. With a stiff tug, I pulled free of you, and went silently up the stairs, leaving you in the wide entrance hall, with only a dying fire for company.

I could never let you become like the little bird. Its wounds hadn't healed. How could you expect the scars of humanity to vanish? I fell into my bed, unable to even pull off my boots. I felt hollow, perfectly empty, as though something important had been damaged between us. What would the morning be like? How could I face you, knowing now... You wanted to give up the very things I had been envious of.

Pale visions of emerald eyes swam on my closed eyelids, blurring and bleeding into messes of slit-pupil scarlet. My half-dreams were plagued by the sight of your warm smile growing ice cold.

_Make me a youkai!_

Never.

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Author's Notes: So... It could have been a lot better. I'm just so out of it right now. I haven't read a Dragon Knights book since I tossed book 20 down in frustration. Am I the only one confused about Rath? If Kharl is his creator, how can he be part of Nadil? What the HELL is the difference between Demon King and Demon Lord! And WTF is with Rune's emo-attack? I mean, last volume he was using Varawoo, and now he's like "Kill me too Thatz!" And Thatz is druggin' people… Geesh. Riru riiru came and went so fast I lost myself. And the translations are just sooo wack. At least Zouma still makes sense. He's the one shining spot of relief in a very confusing Kainaldain world. ANYWAY, this chapter is the last that will go day-by-day. Next chapter, which will hopefully come much more quickly, will HAVE to skip ahead. At my current update rate, if I tried to write it day-by-day, I wouldn't finish until my 600th birthday… T.T

Review Responses:  
**Stalish Poptart:** Your name makes me smile. ? Anyway, thank you for the compliments, and reviewing. I hope you still remember this story… It has been sooo long since I updated.  
**Aquajogger:** HOMG, I'm really sorry I haven't updated, or reviewed your fanfiction! My dragon knights obsession sorta… faded at book 19. It's coming back, I know, because I have already read book 21 in Japanese, and it is the shiz (at least it will be until those awful Tokyopop folks get their hands on it)… I'm so glad you liked the last chapter, which you probably can't even remember now. T.T  
**Serenity Komoshiro:** Why do I even bother replying here to you? You never read my author's notes, wench. Just kidding, hee hee.  
**Brianna:** You really liked it? Hee hee, thank you very much. I'm very glad you did, and I hope the long wait hasn't made you TOTALLY forget this story. (I almost forgot it.)  
**Yami-chan and the Unrealistic:** You told me to update soon… I have decided that six months is decidedly not soon. (Little cries) I'm very sorry, and I know this chapter just pales in comparison to the last one. But oh well, it is what it says it is, only an interlude. Thank you for reviewing!

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	11. Porcelain

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Author's Notes: Hey hey, look at this! This update only took me two months! It's amazing! It's like a miracle, at least for me. Anyway, this chapter is weird. Extremely important, but it doesn't seem like that. Just know that it's very important… It starts the downhill spiral! Next chapter is the time skip, and then… GIL! Gil is officially a plot hole. Kharl couldn't have created him after Rath killed Left Bird, because that was when Rath grew, and then Thatz came right after that… And they weren't together for years, yet Barl has aged thirty of so years! So Gil had to be made at least twenty years before the snowy mountains incident! My summary: Kharl is a liar. Yay. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter at least a little… There's not much action. T.T

Disclaimer: I wished I owned Kharl. But I don't.

Background Music:Suigintou no Yoru (Noriaki Sugiyama)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter Eleven-_  
Porcelain

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How can I explain the desires that only loneliness can bring? The deep and bleak despair that comes from being alone -not in a physical sense- alone in everyway but bodily? I was, and still am, so separate from everything around me. In feeling, in thought, in ability, in soul... How many youkai aspire for a place in Heaven? On the night you'd murdered your father, we'd shared a short of agreement—the kind that transcended mind and ability and stopped only at the differences of our individual souls. But... I turned again beneath my thick comforter, feeling the intangible rustle of feather and claw on my bare hand. Now, a single disagreement had shone me those differences of soul in excess: no matter our common goal, common emotions, even our common home, the deeper darker parts of our hearts shared nothing. I had monetarily found that demons and humans could connect, only to have the opposite truth thrown back at me by innocent, wide green eyes. In the end, I was a youkai, and you were a human.

Have you ever felt this way—hollow and heavy, as if the air itself is holding you down? I was alone. As you slept quietly only a few doors down the hall, I was alone. Human... _Make me a youkai!_ The words drummed inside my head, a delicate but piercing mantra. Why? No, I didn't need to ask. To you, mortality was not simply aging, it was being human. You hated it, didn't it? Hated your own weakness, your own origin... Like some incurable disease, you regarded humanity as unfailing chains. But little human, you did not know immortality as I did. You did not know the cold that comes with it—the way even blood seems like ice in ones veins, freezing a heart that might have otherwise beat well. I was so alone with you beside me. For a moment, briefest moment, I considered it, I wondered at it: with my power, I could strip from you all vestiges of humanity, all innocence; I could dye your father's eyes a brilliant red. I could build from your weak soul a true companion, a demonic child who would comprehend, feel, a youkai's cold anger, a youkai's swift and merciless passion for life; a companion who would understand the simplicity and perfection of animalistic instinct. Someone to whisper the secrets of immortality to...

An image came to me unbidden, with a sudden and intense longing -raven wings and scarlet eyes and smirking fangs- I had not known how badly I missed the company of my own kind. Was this the feeling that created wolf packs? The reason that demons were constantly at war, joining in grand armies—none of us could stand to be alone? The thought struck a chord of discomfort within me, but I failed to drive it away completely. I struggled to imagine your face with those crimson eyes. There was no happiness in it; even when your image gave to me a fanged smile I felt only a deep repulsion and a deeper regret. Loneliness had made me consider -made me honestly consider- taking from you the very thing that had intrigued me about you in the beginning.

I buried my face deep in my pillow, trying to erase the picture of young demonic eyes. I could never let myself do that. I could never hide away the emerald gaze I had come to enjoy reading so much. I could not drown out your warmth with youkai intelligence. Even loneliness would not force my hand. In the end, we still remain a demon and a human—an unchanging balance of dark and light. The thought that I would only be giving into inherent weakness by changing you had sobered my thoughts: making me despise the idea with as much vehemence as when you had first suggested it. You, little human, had to stay yourself, had to stay the innocent, the mortal... Even if it meant I would always be alone. But, as I finally fell into sleep, the smiling scarlet eyes and the grey despair of isolation plagued my dreams.

The morning was one of uneasy silence: you pattered about, cooking, washing, flittering around the main hall with a sort of nervous apprehension. You were frightened, I realized. You'd been deftly avoiding me all day—were you afraid I was angry?

"Garfakcy," I finally called through the dusty haze your cleaning had kicked up. You turned to look at me, wringing the dust rag, eyes overly bright.

"M-Master Kharl, I just... I didn't mean to..." Were you afraid I'd throw you out? Something worse?

"I'm not angry." Your stuttering crumpled, and I tried to offer you a comforting smile. It was a miserable fake, but that was my fault. I hated lying so blankly, but as I have surely learned, sometimes the truth is best omitted. I was furious, in truth, but only at myself. (I could never be mad at you really, and you seemed never to have grasped this.) I was only regretting showing you that magic. I should have left the little thing dead.

"Oh." You offered simply in returned, but I could see a look of sheer relief wash across you. When you turned back to dusting, it was with a much happier air. I was happier too, in a way. With humans, problems could be solved so easily. It was not so with youkai. I was very glad in that moment that I had been clear-headed enough to save us both the regret of a bad decision.

Whatever thoughts had been dancing across my head were lost suddenly in a raucous huff of sound from the dust cloud hovering about you. I knew the sound, and it frightened me to the point where a tiny chill must have run down my spine. This noise was coming from you... That sound, so common among you humans, I had only heard from dying things. Demons do not, often, cough. The book I'd picked up off the kitchen counter slipped from my hands. Coughing meant pain. Pain meant blood, and death.

"Garfakcy!" It wasn't a shout really, but some note of discord must have been apparent in my voice, because your little form, which had been doubled over, one small hand pressed to your lips, turned halfway to look at me through the slowly settling haze.

"Master Kharl?" You questioned my call, stumbling a little as you quelled the fit. I wanted to ask what had happened to you, if you were injured in some manner... But the way you stared at me, clear eyed, wide eyed in mild curiosity, alert. No one in real pain could possibly stare so levelly. I held my tongue for a moment, and then realizing I had simply left you with no explanation, I covered my mistake quickly.

"I'm going to be using the library today. Please try to keep quiet."

"Of course Master Kharl." But you coughed loudly, as if to spite your own agreement. I froze, and then forced myself to ignore the sound.

The library was golden spears as the cold morning sunshine filtered through the tall high windows. The light danced with particles whose sole purpose seemed to be to glitter and swirl in mindless circles, like flickering smoke. The entire place smelt of ancient paper, binding glue and silverfish. I loved it. Collapsing into my cushy and well-weathered armchair, I reached for the first book on the top of the stack I had not bothered to return to the shelf. It was a crumbling but lengthy leather-bound tome written in the slanted and even hand of a youkai lord. As I hadn't known of him, he'd probably been dead for years. It struck me as slightly grim to be perusing the lives of the non-living.

A muffled cough interrupted my thoughts, and it was a struggle to remain in my seat. This noise simply wasn't healthy... But I had felt a bit ashamed at overreacting before, and I was loathe to repeat the incident. If you were not overly concerned, surely you could not be in too much pain. I shook my head once, to clear away the lingering worries, and threw myself back into the memories of the demon lord and his half human son.

It was past noon when you finally knocked on the doors.

"Master Kharl, lunch-" a deep barking cough split your sentence, "-is ready." I set my book down, far less gently than I should have. Despite the intrigue of history, your cooking always managed to catch the majority of my attention. Perhaps it was not only your skill, but my lack of it. It might have stung a bit to be bested by a human, but the superb taste of all your dishes -from pancakes to teacakes- more than made up for it.

What I saw when I finally opened the large oak door set me on edge again. Your gaze was not as it had been earlier; in fact, your green eyes seemed almost filmy and unfocused. Your face, normally a cheery olive tan, was pale in places and bright red across your nose. Red on one's cheeks meant embarrassment, but you'd done nothing silly all day. You stifled a cough as best you could, because as perceptive as you were, you'd caught on to the fact that it was the coughing I'd disliked. A cold feeling burnt me, like ice left on sensitive skin too long, and I was certain something was wrong with you.

You turned and walked away just as I opened my mouth to comment on it, and I wondered vaguely if you knew something was not right and were trying to hide it from me. We ate lunch in relative silence, except for the clinking of silver on porcelain and the jeers of Left Bird who had come to beg for some of your cooking as well. Finally, when I began to think we would go through the entire meal without saying anything, you muttered, and your voice was odd, weak and scratchy,

"It's really hot today." My fork rattled loudly as I dropped it onto the fine China plate. My light eyes darted subconsciously to the window. Outside, the leaves of the trees were jerking about erratically in a harsh wind. The sunlight was cold and pale. Yesterday afternoon's gusty chill had become the precursor to a squall. By your standards, the dining room was freezing.

"Garfakcy," I could stand it no longer, "What is wrong with you?"

"Uh?" Your glazed green eyes tried and failed to focus on me. I noticed then, your thin arms were wrapped around your frame. Shivering, your whole body was shivering. Where a tiny grip had pulled up the fabric of your sleeve, I could see goosebumps on the olive skin of your wrist. You were cold. Why complain of heat?

"I-" a coughing fit interrupted your words, "I'm... I'm..." Speaking seemed almost beyond you. Something of a fine sweat had broken out across your forehead, and your breath was uneven. I felt, not for the first time since your arrival, completely helpless, weak, distant, separate. What was wrong, what could I do? Why did I, the youkai, lack desperately necessary answers? I hated being afraid, but I was that moment, afraid for you and afraid that I was doubting myself again already. _If you were a youkai..._ I hated the thought and didn't want to think it. As I watched you shiver, I felt that if I even tried to touch you, you might break.

The silence pressed on both of us, you stumbled to your feet, pushing your chair back weakly, as if even moving now caused you pain. As routine, you gathered your dishes, horribly slowly, trying to hide the trembling of your hands. You turned wide glassy eyes on my, staring, or trying to, directly into my own.

"I'll..." The words came sluggishly through your lips as if they were traveling a long distance to reach me. "I'll be-" the sentence was never finished. With languidity that could not possibly have been real, your eyes slid completely out of focus, your eyelids shuddered shut; your entire body collapsed, slamming into the floor with a painful sound. The fine porcelain dish fell with you, shattering upon impact, peppering you with shards and cuts. I was frozen, I stared but couldn't really see the scene at all. How? What? My thoughts ran in circles faster than I'd ever thought before.

"God!" The exclamation slipped free without my ever having consciously formed it, and even I was not sure what I'd meant. A plea? An accusation? The word, whatever manner I said it, thawed me. I threw myself from the chair, leapt around the table and fell beside you in the span of half a human breath. A large shard of the plate buried itself in my knee, but the pain did not even register. Breath, breathing, alive. The fact failed to slow my heartbeat. "Garfakcy, open your eyes!" I was surprised to see my own voice so shaken and loud. "What is this!" You tiny form was as still as a corpse, with the exception of the slow and unsteady rise of your chest. I shook you once, roughly, horrified at the doll-like way you lolled about. The pale flesh of your hands was icy.

I knew then, I'd known the moment you'd fallen—I had made a terrible mistake. I had ignored you, tried my hardest to believe that nothing was wrong. Supreme demonic power, experience, knowledge... All that and I failed to understand the problem, failed to offer the necessary aid. I ripped my outer cloak away and wrapped it around you swiftly. In one jerky motion I pulled you from the floor and running blindly, carried you from the room. Useless. All my youkai instincts and gifts had been unable to diagnose that malady that seemed capable of stealing away your life. Human, this was because you were human. I knew where I was heading as I burst through the castle doors, trailing blue material and lilac locks.

I was only a demon, only understood the things that could be explained in youkai terms. What I had always relied on to keep me alive had failed miserably to keep you safe. Ironic. Helpless in my own perfection. The woods flashed past me, and I could feel blood flowing freely from the porcelain sliver embedded under my kneecap. I knew where I was going—to the place of mortality, the home that should have been yours, the place where human problems _could_ be solved. The roofs of the human village raced into view, hazy in the lifeless sunlight, holding strong against the gusting winds. Here, imperfection will save you. A healer, there had to be one... I would find him, if I had to go through every mortal in the village to get there.

If I had been thinking clearly, I would have realized the absurdity -and the danger- of the situation. A youkai was about to burst into a human village and demand attention. Demons in a mortal town usually meant death certificates to be signed. If I had stopped to think clearly for just one moment -and there is my fatal flaw, I fail to consider carefully at the most crucial moments- I would have taken the ash and disguised myself; it would have Avis racing toward the city square with an unconscious child in his arms. It was that moment Fate chose to throw down its cards. I should have noticed sooner, is it clear now how off center I'd become, that my nose failed to take in something I should have noticed from the middle of the woods? I had taken the Life Spirit of Arinas from that bastard king. The village had already been in decline...

When I stumbled into the square, it was completely devoid of life. I stopped short, took it in, concern and worry turning into a deep and gnawing horror. I could smell it then, the lack of new scents. What had been a living, breathing village a few weeks ago was now a ghost town. My grip on you must have become tight, because I felt cloth tear beneath my claws. The helplessness which had fled since I'd set out for the village roiled and grew almost to the part where I wanted to shout. Would you die? I know I must have shivered at the thought. How awfully ironic that my own failure to perceive... Without the Life Spirit, this country would die. Everything humans needed would fail to grow. That had been months ago now; of course they would—a sharp hiss ended the thought midway. Instantly I spun on my heel to face the sound. In that one moment, when my light eyes focused on the cause of the noise, I knew Fate had been on my side all along.

"Youkai." The voice was cold, wary, frightened but stiff, and above all, familiar.

"It's you." And I knew the barest hint of a smile had crept across my face—probably not the wisest action, as everything demon about me seemed to frighten the only human left in this wretched place. The woman, long black braid swinging gently, began to back away, slowly as if not to startle me into motion.

"'ake wha'ever you like from 'is village, but don' you even 'ink about eatin' me monster!" There was a steely sort of determination in her eyes and I was instantly glad that she should be the one to find us. I took a step toward her, trying (and failing apparently, for she took two large steps back) to look non-threatening.

"It's me, Avis." Thank God for good memory, at least that had not abandoned me like all my other senses. The woman blinked, and stopped her retreat, until her own memory answered, and she spat-

"I'm no fool. 'at boy Avis was a blond, and a human 'oo!"

"I bought a pink apron from you and paid with gold pieces. You told me to watch out for youkai." Now the woman's look changed into one of furious disbelief. When I took a step closer however, she did not back away. "That day I ended up in your shop because I'd spooked the baron's horses. I said I'd been traveling. I have no time for this; you absolutely must believe me now." All this had been said in a gusty fast voice, almost in time with the wind blowing over us.

"But 'ow?" And then her voice became steely again. "You lied 'o me."

"Would I have made it into your shop at all if I hadn't?" I knew my impatience and nervousness were not helping the situation. For a moment she seemed to consider me as a whole, struggling to compromise Avis and the demon she'd just met. Finally, the defensive posture lessened just enough to be considered almost normal, and she muttered,

"Wha' in all seven 'ells do you wan' 'ere in 'is village?"

"Help." The word had tasted like poison on my tongue, awkward and unreal. I couldn't even believe I'd actually said it. My pride, you must imagine, took an extremely heavy blow. It wasn't until I'd spoken this however that she noticed the bundle in my arms was actually breathing. Our conditions changed dramatically in the space of ten seconds. Logically, if I was asking for help, I was not an immediate threat. Curiosity as to what was in my grip must have won out over lingering fear because, though her slow steps betrayed cautiousness, she approached me. With shaking and jerky hands the human pulled at my cloak, twitching visibly as it caught on my claws. It was not so much as gasp as a deep breath that escaped her when she saw you, and I think it was a sound of deep relief. This was not a tiny demon in distress but a mortal child, something she could handle.

With the same wary movements she pressed her hand to your burning forehead, hissed, and drew back.

"'e's ill. Awful fever." Her voice took on something akin to a scold that failed to hide all her tremble. "To le' it get 'is bad... Are you blind?" Then realizing I might have taken offense to such a comment, she took a quick step backward.

"Youkai do not fall ill. Can you cure it?"

"'e doctor's already gone on, bu' 'e's probably lef' enough behind to fix 'is mess." Reproachfully the dark haired woman almost glared at me and walked around us toward one of the smaller roads. "'s 'is way." Holding you gingerly, I followed, feeling a little ridiculous. A youkai allowing a human to lead? Somehow I failed to notice that a normal youkai wouldn't be bothering to cure a human at all.

As we went she kept throwing nervous glances back at me, and I wondered if she was hoping I'd have vanished or if she was checking to make sure I wasn't losing my temper at the long walk. We reached the abandoned healer's home, and the shopkeeper pushed roughly on the door. It refused to budge.

"Damn, locked." She looked toward the windows, searching for some means of entrance. While she did this, I stepped to the door and, with less effort than it takes a human to lift a sheet of paper, tore the knob and lock from the frame. The woman jerked visibly at the action, but for a mortal, I had to admit, she was holding up fairly well. With the lightest brush of my hand against it, the door swung open into a dark and very empty home.

Much of the furniture was missing, taken by either the doctor in his flight, or by thieves in their own. The only remaining pieces were those too large for a human to lift, and these were coated with the first fine layers of dust. The air was still and the entire place smelt of chemicals and illness. In normal circumstances I would have found the place unpleasant. Today, I was happy to find the scent of medicine so strong—the healer had not taken everything.

The shopkeeper hurried away, opening doors in the long hallway and finally beckoning to me. The room she had chosen was bright, white-washed with a long mirror across the East wall that reflected perfectly the garden visible through a wide West window. The reflection looked like some sort of moving painting, crafted so well as to catch the true impact of wind through trees. The majority of the small room was occupied by a stiff looking bed with a cream blanket and crisp white sheets. I laid you there, and that blue and gold patterns of my cloak looked odd against the wool and odder still against your flushed face.

"Do you know the correct medicine for this illness?" I asked, without bothering to look over at her.

"Ay, my 'usband had 'he same 'ing once. I'll find it fo' you." She hurried back into the hall. Momentarily I thought it considerate of her to spar me the asking—then I realized it was simply eagerness to leave the room that had prompted her offer. I gritted my teeth a little, invisibly. Her fear was grating on me. If I had any intention of harming her, she would have been dead ages ago, and this lingering nervousness, however instinctive it must have been, was positively annoying. You had never acted that way. Miffed, I focused on watching you and found myself unnerved by your weakness. Normal youkai do not get 'fever'—I'd never seen the likes of this before, and like almost everyone, I have long harbored a hatred for things unknown to me. It had already crossed my mind that you might die from something so sudden and strange to me. I tried to imagine then, as I waited for the human to return, what my life would be like if you did disappear forever. There was an awful blankness in my mind, and I could only fill it with monotony and routine. I disliked the thought that I might need someone else to keep me stable, but... I had been alone before, and I never wanted to repeat the experience.

She bustled back into the room, hands closed around a tiny crystal vial. It could have been full of water, but the chemical smell that filled the room quickly betrayed its true nature. Without speaking to me at all, she crossed the room, uncorked the bottle and poured half the translucent liquid through your barely parted lips. Expertly, she forced your mouth shut, a moment before you reflexively began coughing. I thought for a second that the undoubtedly vile taste had awoken you, but it was only natural reaction, and once the flavor had faded you fell back again, eyes shut and face just as red as before.

"I' will 'ake time." She fell silent and so did the room, with the exception of your labored breathing and the nervous tapping of her boot. I expected her to leave then, I _wanted_ her to leave. Now that her purpose had been fulfilled, her tiny role in our lives acted out, I only wanted to be rid of her scuffling feet. She was nice enough as humans go, but I never did like mortals much. She almost shocked me by simply standing there, staring. When I met her eyes, I knew the look instantly—it was one of mild curiosity. "I'm no fool." And her voice was steadier than I had heard it. "I know 'o 'is boy is." She smiled, a little knowing grin that surprised but did not alarm me. If she knew anything about you, it was unimportant. My silence did not seem to bother her -it was probably the only thing about me that didn't unnerve her- and she stood there, plucking a loose string on her sleeve. Finally she prodded me again. "Avis isn' your name, is it?"

"No." My smile was small and distant.

"You gave me all 'at money, 'nough to stay fo' months w'en everyone else 'ad to go..."

Soon there would be nothing left. The wells would run dry, the crops would rot. As much as this woman disinterested me, she had saved you where I might have caused your death. "Things are going to change soon. Even your home, I imagine, is not worth the cost of your life. You should go." And it was gentle prod on my own part. Leave me alone now, in words that I had made sound almost caring. Really, I meant them in some sense. It wouldn't do to let her get eaten by demons, and it was certain that they would soon overrun this village, empty as it was. Whatever meaning I'd coated the command in, she seemed to understand, because she took a large step toward the hallway.

I smiled, just a little wider, and this seemed a final sign to her. It must have been the threat of white fangs, because she turned abruptly and left the room in a rustle of skirts and no backward glance. There might have been a very quiet 'Thank you' whispered in her disappearance, but it's possible I added that in retrospect. Wherever she went, I have no interest in knowing. Across the ocean surely. Do you even remember her? I always have—it's hard to forget saviors.

It was hours before you awoke. The winds had blown in clouds; the sun had set, and rain came in sudden rough spurts. When you sat up stiffly, it was very late. I'd lit the lamp on the side table, and the whole room had taken on an oily orange glow. You surveyed the place slowly, with eyes still more glazed than clear. Finally, when you'd convinced yourself that this was not a room in the castle, you fell back against the pillows with a hoarse sigh.

"I feel... like shit." I almost giggled, almost. You would be fine now—that foul language was the unstoppable Garfakcy I knew. I didn't bother telling you where we were, I'm sure you'd already figured it out. The room was very quiet, but it was not the nervous silence of shopkeeper. Finally, you muttered in the scratchy weak voice that was trying hard to keep steady, "What happened?"

"You fell ill, and I brought you here." It was a severely simplified version of the real events, but you deemed it satisfactory.

"I'm sorry Master Kharl." I waved the apology aside. I was sure, many years from then, I would look back and laugh at the entire affair. You unrolled yourself weakly from my cloak, and suddenly hissed in pain. Your hand flew to your shoulder, where a pale shard of the ruined plate had cut through your shirt and buried itself in your skin. I leaned forward, and with deft claws, removed the sliver as gently as I could. As I did this, you noticed what I'd forgotten myself. "Master Kharl, you're bleeding!" That wasn't true of course, the wound had congealed hours ago. Nevertheless, the action of removing the shard from you reminded me that I too had foolishly let myself be cut. With less care than I had paid to you, I pulled the much larger sliver from my knee. It would heal quickly now, with nothing to impede it.

For a moment I regarded the stained shards of porcelain. The jagged edges were both dark with blood. Finally, when you had begun to stare at them too, I asked part from curiosity, part from awe,

"Can you tell the difference?" Your eyes, clearing slowly, took it in, the dark on pure white, the thin sharp edges...

"No, I can't."

What surprised me most was I could not tell the difference either. The blood spilled over the pure white plaster seemed identical. For a long time I was silent, turning this revelation over in mind. How could demon's blood and human's blood be so similar? How could... How could... Fatigue claimed you while I said nothing, and you slipped into a much easier sleep. I could not do the same at all. How could we be similar at all? At our most basic aren't we supposed to be most different? I didn't understand this, I wondered at it, unable to stop myself from thinking. I had no idea then where those thoughts would lead. I had no idea that, when I absently scribbled those ideas on paper, they would become the basis for a book capable of changing fate. How can we be the same? How are we different? The Demon Bible began with blood on porcelain.

_In whose image am I made?_

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Author's Notes: Okay, okay, did that make ANY sense? It made loads of sense in my head… And not so much sense on my keyboard. But you do see why this is an important chapter? Everything has changed. And now, I get to write the real Kharl! The chapters may come faster now, since I don't have to make up every single scene myself… Heh yeah, I had to cover Garfakcy's first illness. It was long due. Oh and yes, the OC. Now she's gone for good, I promise... I hated her very much. She's gone across the sea, and will found a line of black haired women that will include Kuon Sheena and Pyore. End of story.

Review Responses: Yes, I know we aren't really supposed to do these on our chapters any more, but I'm not about to change my habits now.  
**Yami-chan and the Unrealistic:** I'm glad you liked the last chapter so much… This one was way weird. I hope you didn't hate it! Thanks for reviewing!  
**RandomRathFan:** Kharl is… Kharl. There's no other way to put it. He's just so special. Loves him, yes I do:) Anyway, thank you very much for reviewing, and I hope this chapter didn't make you hate this story… v.v At least you didn't have to wait forever, right?

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	12. The Nature of Hearts

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Author's Notes: I am not even going to bother making excuses. I suck. Anyway, the Gil chapter. Or the first of the Gil chapters, as he is, of course, coming back later. Life has kept me so busy, but I'm trying. I have other stories I want to do, and I need to finish this one to get the others started. Blah, I will try to update sooner next time, I will. This is the second longest Cloaks chapter to date, whee!

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Background Music: Wake Up #37 (King Black Acid)

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**Cloaks  
**By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 12-  
_The Nature of Hearts

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I've been a fool for a good portion of my life, but today -yesterday?- has to be my crowning achievement. What made me rush in so blindly? I could have done any number of other things (perhaps, maybe, should have) and now that the overpowering emotion of the moment is gone, I can't understand why I did it at all. No, that's a lie. I know why—it was the look on his face, the look I'd seen before and hated. I couldn't let it happen again. The unhidden fear in his eyes made me to do it, and even though I'm rethinking the decision now, I know that I would give myself up again in an instant without his ever asking. That, I think, is the nature of hearts: giving and regretting and giving again blindly. Mine must be among the most selfish, because I love to take and take and take. Even when I fell at his feet my little black heart was drinking up his disbelief. _Yes, I care for you this much, and you never even knew._

I feel as if I've remembered everything there is, but in the next moment I know I haven't even covered a portion of the important events at all, because after those nights in the human village, my life really began. At least the life that everyone knows and dislikes. It doesn't matter that before this time I was an almost nonexistent presence, a phantom threat, not even imposing enough to have a name beyond "the pretty demon who fought the King of Arinas". None of my relatively quiet days are remembered; evil seems to have eclipsed all my actions.

We slipped out of the once bustling human village late the morning after your illness. It was an almost uneventful walk until the outskirts, where the first of the lumbering, brutish demons intent on claiming the village decided to stand in my path. You stood tall (no pun intended) beside me, but I could tell by the way you moved closer to my side that you were uncomfortable. The ash was at home, and you did not have enough experience fighting to even be considered a challenge for youkai—this would change quickly, though neither of us knew it at the time.

The beast was nearly two feet taller than me, quite an accomplishment considering I was pushing nearly two meters. Its skin was a dark molted green, a strange mixture of fur and scales that made the creature look as if it had come from a child's nightmare and not reality at all. Whatever its origins, the thing was clearly stupid, not a threat in the loosest of definitions. I would have been content not to waste a second of our time, but it turned and shot us a blank stare that obviously reeked weak-minded interest.

"Human." It snuffed wetly in our direction. Reluctantly, I stopped walking when it stepped into our way. "What the hell's a human doin' with you?" At least its nose worked properly. To my merit, I did give the creature a few seconds to reconsider blocking us (though really, such a slow mind would have needed at least an hour to rethink any single choice), and then I eliminated him. Like the ash, I had left my death seed in the castle, a mistake I wish I had not made. It was my claws that tore his head from his shoulders—a sluggish gesture that should have been easy to dodge. You watched him crumple, watched me wipe the thick black blood on my heavy robe and walk around the corpse without saying a word, but the glare you shot me spoke volumes—you were not looking forward to getting that stain out of the cloth.

As we walked back through the wood, I made my steps calculated and slow. It was a rouse, but not one you saw through. I could feel the youki blooming and creeping through the trees, a sense that made my already messy hair stand on end. It was not only this village—the humans everywhere must have fled. A mass exodus. The island was devoid of mortals, with the exception of one tiny green-eyed boy. I took a step closer to you without even thinking about it, and then offered no answer when you blinked, puzzled, up at me. The thought of you being so alone here was not exactly sad, but it was something that weighed on my mind. As we wound our way back toward the sanctuary of the castle, I tried to ignore both feelings: the melancholy thoughts about you and the instinctive urges to attack every youkai invading my territory. But failed mildly at both.

When a serpent demon passed fifty meters to our right, farther away than you could see between the trees but exceedingly close to my hyper alert sense, I couldn't completely quell the low growl that escaped my throat. You started, a tiny little jerk that made me cut the noise of quickly. Nevertheless, the damage was done, I saw in your brilliant human eyes the barest flicker of fear. It sent a jolt through me, a stab of realization that maybe all along I'd been living just the way I wanted to and ignoring everything I didn't want to see. Did you fear me? Even though you obeyed me, would you rather have been somewhere else? To you, was I any different from the monsters crawling just outside the range of your senses?

I was doubting then the extent of human loyalty. The strong and unbreakable ties that are so common in your kind are almost nonexistent in mine; for a few minutes I honestly believed you might one day leave me for a stronger master, simply because power was something you and so many others desired. It worried me, and I very much hated that—the depth to which you have assimilated yourself into my life was disconcerting. It was too far really, because no demon should feel as much camaraderie as I felt with you. Demons are not supposed to be friends with humans. Humans were not supposed to trust -or want to become- youkai. I was fast learning that with us nothing follows 'supposed to'. Whatever my unwanted worries that moment, you turned to look at me, and the fear had completely vanished, burnt away by a frustrated little scowl.

"Master Kharl, hurry up! You're walking slow." It was a silly thing to say; a silly truth that banished for a few moments all my concerns. I had been dawdling, hadn't I? I quickened my steps to match your own swift pace, thinking all the while that you really shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard, you were still ill despite the strong medicine. It occurred to me that perhaps you were eager to get back to the castle, eager to return to being useful, to continuing the lives we'd oddly carved out in the pass few weeks.

I was eager too, though for other things—ideas were floating about in my mind ceaselessly, ideas about humans, about faeries, but most importantly, about demons. What made demons different? What components of the body, what components of the soul? When the next demon passed us, I hardly even noticed, I did not offer even the tiniest of snarls. It was with small smiles that we both climbed the two stone steps and pushed open the wide doors to a quiet and undisturbed castle.

As the door swung shut behind me with the rough scrape of wood and stone, I never suspected that I was shutting the door on an era—the thin dusty breeze that rose from the door's passing, I didn't suspect, would carry into our lives two hundred years very different from our first months together, my first months without the master. Two hundred years that would make you a warrior, more adept with the ash that I could ever have imagined. You mastered all sorts of weapons, from kitchen knife to halberd, and at my insistence, armor as well. You even managed transportation spells, scattering (incredibly useful in conjunction with chemicals causing sleep or poisoning), and mimicry with the ash that was frighteningly realistic. I distinctly remember eating more than a few mouthfuls of dust you'd turned into models of the daily meals. Each day, I watched your humanity slip further and further away until, when things really began, you weren't any one thing at all—too demonic to be human, too human to be a demon.

It wasn't only you who changed over those many decades. I also became something indescribable. The loneliness and curiosity peaked in me. I devoted myself to the very thing I wanted to keep you separate from: crafting demonic souls. The advances I made, the secrets I discovered about the very composition of the soul, every thought and feeling in my tumultuous mind was recorded in what would become known as the Demon's Bible, a sordid work of art and darkness that should never have been shared. (Then again, I did gain so much amusement from watching others stumble through the practices themselves.)

I learned to do things that no one ever had, learned forms of magic no one will ever be able to imitate. Two hundred years of research made the birds and I even more inseparable; I went from drawing on their power to form souls inside dead bodies to crafting souls myself and inserting them over the presences of already living beings. By the end of those centuries two things were growing inside me: immense power and immense desire to replace what I had lost, to expend my mounting ability and fill the hole that even our (I may tentatively call it) friendship could not. I wanted something more true, someone who would not flinch at my snarl: a companion, a child to impart my knowledge to; I wanted nothing more than to share the burden of emotion, to prove I was not the only one capable of feeling, to forge a heart identical to mine.

That feeling, that impetuous, is what really began everything. I was impatient, determined to find this companion. I did not think ahead -a horrible flaw of mine- I simply acted. I taught myself to compress the essence of my power and the power of the birds into corporeal form, solidified youki. Demon Seed I called it, for its kernel form, a companion to the palm-sized swift death magic I had already given to you to use. Here was the contrast: I never let you touch the Demon Seed, for fear you might attempt to force a transformation on yourself. Did you notice this?

The day that I left you completely alone, without any warning or notice for the first time, was the day that I began a fall from grace that would cost thousands of lives and thousands more tears before it finally fixed itself. Would you believe me if I told you I never intended things to go the way they did? That's the way events unfold however, when hearts strive only for their own interest. If I had stopped to think, even once, about others, I know I could have prevented pain, bloodshed. I am not blessed -or cursed- with empathy. Beyond logical analysis I cannot begin to ponder the feelings of others, I failed miserably at every presented opportunity to evaluate a situation from someone else's perspective. If I had bothered to _think_, maybe I could have saved Rath, maybe I could have undone the damage to Gil. And maybe I wouldn't be dying.

I left that day silently, without a footstep, without the slightest rustle of my flowing white cloak. The birds flew over me, quieter than hunting owls, soundlessly intrigued by my antics. I left no note, no trace of my leaving. I did not even think about the fact that you might worry. I simply knew the heart I was searching for would never be found here, on this barren continent. My future lie across the sea, in a country I had, before this day, visited only once or twice briefly in our long lives. The wood was bright, a hazy morning sunlight that felt warm and pure on my cheek. The birds swooped into the branches overhead, and with a whisper and a wind more magic than breeze, I left Arinas. Dusis, as the land across the world was called, was a stark contrast to our tropical mountainous home. Densely wooded and regional, the land seemed to vary from high alps to swampy backlands. It was interesting to say the least.

My truth destination was nowhere near the interior of the continent, a place called Dragoon—that area reeked of Dragon, a group of people I had no intention of becoming entangled with. (Isn't it ironic how the things we intend least always seem to happen?) I chose the city of Yuba, far to the North, to begin my search. The area was roiling in magic—I could feel it positively radiating from the mountains rising over the town. Exactly what type it was I could not tell: it seemed tempest-like, straining against itself... It registered like a whirlwind of confusion in my mind. You can't blame me for not figuring out this was the signature of Hayate, the Wind Dragon. I'd never truly felt a dragon's power before; this tumbling wildness was intriguing and magnetic, though hollow. It was, I would later discover, only a shadow of the true power, a faint empty impression left by the creature who had been unsealed even before my coming.

Whatever it was, it filled the air of the place with heavy antiquity—I liked it immediately. The woods that bore not unpleasantly down on the village provided flawless cover for the birds and I. Patiently, or as patient as I can be, I waited and watched. I felt that I would know the right soul immediately. This assumption was entirely false (though not really, thinking back): I passed Gil by twice before even noticing him. In the end it wasn't anything he did that brought my attention to him, it was something another young man did.

"Aniki, aniki—look at the birds!" I watched as the young brown-haired boy raced up to a taller, more reserved companion. I had seen the older brother in the street, but had spared him almost no second glance. Now I looked closely, only because there was no one else on the street. He was, at first sight, virtually uninteresting. Darkly tanned skin, like many of the people of Yuba, green eyes that did not glitter or attract. He was tall compared to the little one beside him, but certainly not taller than myself. In fact, even at this third glance, the only intriguing thing about him was his hair: long and untamed, it seemed to shine an inhuman vermillion-indigo when struck by light. With all this plainness, you can see at least that I chose Gil for reasons beyond the aesthetic.

I was watching thoughtlessly, paying only a fraction of attention, when the younger one tripped and fell onto the road. Crying in pain but trying very hard not to show it, he sat up, clutching a skinned knee with skinned palms. Gil did something then that snared my interest and did not let it go—he sat down on the dirt beside his brother, heedless of his own starkly white clothing.

"Na Barl... Clumsy ototo should look at their feet, not the birds." Instantly, the little one's tears seemed to evaporate, he jumped up, nearly slamming his forehead into his brother's chin.

"I'm not clumsy! I can walk as well as you can!" He ran a few steps to prove it, injuries completely forgotten in the wake of the insult. With his back turned, Barl missed completely the very thing that made me choose Gil: a small, gentle smile that spoke volumes about the boy behind it. Where his voice had been quiet and unassuming even when teasing, his smile was exceedingly true, shy and pure in a way that even your innocent grins could not match. This smile was not born of the joy people like us took from others pain, it was not even the type of happiness you seemed to get from cleaning. I don't have the words to describe it properly, but I have often tried. It was a smile that said more than his words could ever hope to—it told me clearly how his teasing had a reason. He had not said that to make his brother feel inferior, he had done it to distract the boy from his pain, a plan that had worked flawlessly. This little grin of his betrayed to me the happiness Gil took from thinking of others. It was, if I must pick words, a wholly selfless smile.

I realized in that moment that Gil's soul was something to be treasured. Kindness is so rare, and selflessness even more so. I wanted immediately to steal him away, bleed youkai into his veins, teach him everything—I wanted this altruistic person to be the one who would truly understand me. It's more than obvious that I wasn't thinking clearly. If I had not been so set in my ideas, so absolutely sure of myself, I would have seen that Gil had no place in his heart for a life with me; he was too busy already loving the place he had.

Of course I didn't see this; I am blind more often than not. When I watched Gil and Barl race each other home, all smiles and laughter as dusty and as rich as the air, I did not see how alone and listless Gil would feel without his brother—I only saw how smiles and laughter would brighten my own life. When I watched him through a window telling stories to a wide-eyed little brother, I didn't see how much he valued his human tales, being able to turn everyday occurrences into harrowing adventures—I only saw myself telling him all my own stories. I could only imagine him at my table, listening like a wide-eyed little brother of my own. In the end, I failed to see Gil's capacity for hate because I could only imagine love.

It was with those -sadly evanescent- visions in my mind that I determined to steal Gil out of the hands of mortals. He, I would not be swayed away, was going to be the perfect soul. There was no great scheme in it, it was not some bad destiny on Gil's part... No gods had, with the intention of ruining his life, allied against him. It was just one smile at the wrong time. I know what you are thinking. How could death-dealer Gil, puppet Gil ever have been a person I wanted to make my companion? But you really must see him in two lights—the shattered, violent, confused beast you met was _never_ meant to exist. He was born of ill planning, ill treatment, of worse. The real Gil, before the Dragon Knights, before Nadil, before me, was exactly as I remember and enjoyed him being: a sweet, shy boy with a penchant for laughter and a fierce sense of loyalty.

I waited -so impatiently you cannot imagine- for even the slimmest chance to snatch Gil. It came hours later, just when I was beginning to think I may have to invade the tiny house and pull him out. My sensitive ears heard it before my eye caught it:

"I want to go too!" The little one was pouting.

"No." The reply was so familiar and instantaneous that I could easily see this scene playing itself out a million times before. This time... Gil wound his way out the door, a hand axe still and steady in his grip. "I'll be back in ten minutes." But I knew what he didn't—the short trip for firewood wouldn't take just ten minutes; it wouldn't take even just ten years. "Set the table." The burgundy-haired boy yelled over his shoulder, and I was determined that his place at that table would remain empty.

The actual kidnapping -though the connotation of that word stains the intention of the action- was so simple I almost didn't even believe it myself. I followed him as he picked expertly through the trees, gathering timber and larger branches as he went. He was silent, with feet that seemed as padded and as confident as a panther's. But I was more silent still; he never, until the last moments, knew I was there. I was like an inverse shadow, winding a path behind him into the thick, a holly and oak crowded band that nestled among not only the village but also the peaks rising, untouchable, above.

He was headed somewhere, following a trail that was more wild bush than track, and I let him wind his way. Restraining myself was no easy chore, but it was worth it. Gil stopped in a well-kept glade that smelt strongly of freshly cut wood. Across the grass that was impossibly green and without patches, the trunks of trees stood rolled and stacked together, simply waiting to be split down. As Gil chose his pieces and raised his axe, I knew my chance had come.

"Hello Gil." He nearly leapt out of his nutshell brown skin. The boy was, by no means, an idiot: as he spun to face me, the axe fell swiftly into a defensive stance. His muddy green eyes were alight with suspicion and with something else: a wavering, unsure fear. Gil was like that even before we met I surmised, shy and uncertain of himself, tending to over-analyze where quick action would produce more favorable results.

"I don't know you." It was a question as much as a statement, and I could tell he was confused by my appearance—for a far Northerner, the lightness of my skin, hair and eyes must have been offsetting and intriguing.

"It's true, you don't, yet." It was that moment Left Bird and Right Bird chose to drop from the treetops. Gil flinched, the reticent light in his eyes blending into a darker sense of unease.

"What do you want?" But he was looking more at the birds than me. In accordance with my will, I felt Left Bird's power spike; Gil staggered under the thick oppressive magic, mental functions slowing to a crawl. His hazy eyes blinked once.

"It's less of a question of what I want," I was smiling now, the smile that tends to illicit fear from others, "Than what I will have." I could see him shiver visibly at the words, unable to hide the action in the slightest. There was time for me to see fully in his murky gaze a deep glint of terror, and then the freshly released Aplomb hit his nervous system. With a murmured word that might have been 'Help', the burgundy-haired boy collapsed into my arms. It was that easy; a tiny bit of magic, a few words. With not even a pinch of my power, we were gone from Dusis, leaving only an axe glinting weakly in the last rays of the afternoon sun.

The castle doors seemed to rise up to greet us, the wood grain pleasantly familiar beneath my fingertips. With the barest of pushes, I brought Gil into my home. Whatever peace I might been expecting, it never came.

"Master Kharl, where have you been! I was looking-" Do you remember your expression at that moment? I do, it has been etched into my memory. I can still see the unrestrained confusion, the blankness in your jade eyes... and the narrowing tide of distrust and dislike that came only seconds later. You never liked Gil, did you? I don't think you ever forgave him for getting from me the very thing you wanted most. "Where the _hell_ did you find that thing? What are you gonna do with it? You better not-"

"Ssh Garfakcy, later." I brushed past your irate form, and did not fail to see the hurt flash briefly on your face. I just had too many other things on my mind to reassure you then. I could not wait to change Gil, I was eager and excited and in no mood to be stopped. Without another word I carried him down into the depths of the castle. When you half-attempted to follow, I shut the door and locked it, putting a physical wall between us where only a mental one had stood before.

Gil was laid out before me, messy hair dancing across the stone table and over the carved sides, breathing slowly and almost as still as a corpse.

"Wake up Gil." I waited, for only a moment, and then his eyelids fluttered like the spined edges of a butterfly's wings beating weakly against the petals of his tanned skin. "Open your eyes Gil." Blurry green met my own pale irises. For a moment there was nothing save a blank confusion and pitiful loss—and then the barest flicker of recognition. With a hiss (that later seemed to suit him much better) he tried to back away from me.

The Aplomb was still numbing his system: what should have been strong jump became a clumsy fall. He landed on the other side of the table, and trying desperately to make his legs follow the orders of his brain, attempted to stand. He failed -of course, my magic was flawless- and when I stately, politely approached him, he backed weakly into a corner. "Don't be afraid of me." It was somewhere between an order and a request. Still, I saw him shudder, pressed against the cabinets as far as the sturdy wood would allow.

"Where am I, who are you, why did you bring me-" He dissolved into a barrage of questions with a low voice still half numbed from the poison.

"I brought you home Gil, and I want you to..." How could I explain in a few words exactly what I wanted from him? I could see the confusion leaking back into his gaze as I bent down to his level.

"This is not my home and I don't want to be here." I should have seen that for what it was: pure unacceptance of everything I had to say. But, back then, this is not the way I heard it. I made it out to be only reluctance, a bit of fear, a slowness to adapt. Can you see how eager I was to believe everything was the way I wanted it to be? I was only thinking, as soon as he becomes a demon, he'll realize that he belongs with me. With that idea in mind, I did the only thing that could have driven he and I farther apart.

With a finger across my own lips I silenced him, and with a smile I turned Gil into a demon. It was not as simple as that of course. The Demon Seed slide smoothly through his flesh, the retina of his right eye which I disliked for the fear it showed. For the shortest of seconds there was nothing but stillness and shock, and then Gil began to scream.

What could you -undoubtedly listening just outside the door- have thought of this? Were you imagining some horrible happenings—did you believe I was doing something terrible to the stranger? Perhaps I was devouring him limb by limb; testing some archaic and merciless magic? I was always curious as to what you made of the howling, but too afraid to ask. I did not want to hear that you had not imagined anything; did not want to hear that you had no sympathy at all for Gil. I did not want to hear that instead of wanting to end his pain, you had wanted to prolong it.

It's a shame that I can admit this too late, when you cannot defend yourself against my memory. Maybe you had pitied him, and just did not show it? Maybe my perception of you was wrong? It is with increasing discomfort that I find I have been wrong _many_ times. Were you afraid that one day I might cause you the same sort of agony? Whatever the case, Gil's pain shocked me—it was true that Demon Seed was still new, still being tested, but there was no reason for it to cause injury at all.

Like Death Seed, the Demon Seed was meant to be quick and efficient—meant to force the transformation with all haste. In all previous trials the humans and animals had simply faded into near unconsciousness and changed swiftly. After a brief period of psychological adaptation that was usually spent retesting simple motor skills, the specimens continued to proceed without mishap. Undoubtedly, the transformation must have been unpleasant, or at the very least uncomfortable and the confusion after such a change was surely daunting, but there was nothing in the tiny seed that should have caused such intense pain.

Gil was writhing, howling at the top of his lungs, fingers clenching and unclenching forcefully enough to leave indents on his palms. His eyes were rolling, out of focus, a cold sweat had broken out along his skin. Concerned, but unable (and unwilling) to undo what had been done, I only watched, stepped out of the range of his thrashing legs. It went on for a long time (probably not as long as I am remembering it), long enough for me to think I had done something wrong. Nothing about him seemed to be changing, he just continued to suffer and scream.

And then things grew worse. His vocal chords and throat could not withstand the prolonged use, they gave in, striping his voice away until there was nothing but an opened mouth and teared over eyes, silently wailing a pain that should not have existed. It was after this that the transformation finally seemed to begin—first with shaking fingers that grew delicately pointed claws. I had to catch his hands here, to stop them from convulsing and ripping his palms apart. Then it was his hair, the barest pigment changes that made the maroon mop blend into a more indigo-magenta shade, bright and bold in a way that did not seem to suit the weak being Gil looked like in this broken state. Last it was the eyes -eye, as the one harboring the demon seed refused to open- which bled from utterly normal green to a penetrating gold. Stunning, if not for the agony even more evident.

Finally, Gil stilled, a horrible sort of stillness that did not make me any less uneasy. I waited, watching, unsure of why things had happened the way they had and what things were happening now. Finally, I released my grip on Gil's fingers, foolishly believing he would be fine from there out. It was to my near horror that Gil looked up at me for the first time as a demon, and instead of anything remotely near acceptance, there was in his one open eye a hatred so deep I felt it pass all through me like unstoppable waves of flame, searing away all my previous beliefs. What must my face have looked like to him? Could his clouded gaze have seen the hurt in my own light eyes—I don't think he did (I know he didn't) because he did something then that wrung all my hopes dry.

For a moment he was motionless, and then with a speed that betrayed his transformation, he bared newly formed fangs, lifted a single clawed hand... and attempted to tear his own eye out. Did you think I'd caused that scar? My magic was far too advanced to cause damage like that. No, it was Gil's own claws that rent the flesh, a single long and furious strike before I caught his hands again. The blood ran thick and fast down his skin, over his cheek and off the edge of his chin. He began to struggle against my hold, enraged and judgment clouded by pain. I could feel the youki beginning to rise inside him, a stronger power than even I had expected—and I also knew in that moment that he would not be able to control it.

The power spiked, even you must have felt it upstairs. I watched the last vestiges of his restraint crumble; beneath my fingers, fur began to rip through his tanned skin. His already damaged vocal chords strained further, he twisted free of my grip and curled in on himself—beneath his long bangs I saw a bloody eye open, hungry and untamed. Gil's demon form would have intimidated a good few, but I could only feel a dull confusion, a little displeased... And then he reached out with a massive paw and tried to cut me down. I stepped out of his range in time, but barely, because I just could not believe the situation.

Gil really did hate me. He was not going to accept this. And I knew then why the Demon Seed had pained him so much. His body had rejected it, rejected becoming a demon. With his claws and his blood and his soul, Gil had rejected me. Can you imagine how unsure I was? How was I supposed to handle something like this? I had kidnapped him without thinking, changed him without allowing for adaptation. I wasn't sure if I should feel hurt, shocked, angry... In the end I did not have to choose, one simply devoured all the others: bitterness. I disliked Gil for disliking me; I hated him for attempting to destroy the very the thing I wanted most. Any other feeling I had toward him was swiftly eaten away. Gil did not understand how much I wanted to share with him, how much I had hoped he would be... The worst of my traits is that I am impulsive, but closely following that is my capacity for hatred, my ability to simply turn my back on anyone and everyone. In a single day I went from wanting to take Gil in as my child to wanting him dead.

I shouldn't say that, because it was not exactly true. If I had wanted Gil dead, I would have killed him. It would have been better to say that I simply ceased to care, for him, for his confusion and rage... But the most hidden parts of me know that even that is not the truth—because I did try. As angry as I was, as scorned as I felt, I still ignored the bad things that Gil did. I let him destroy the room I'd locked him in (because he could not be trusted to remain in any of the upper rooms), sometimes with the claws of a lion and sometimes with his own 'human' fingers. I did not starve him, I did not torture him. Don't be mistaken, I did cause him pain—in the weeks I kept him locked away, I caused serious irreversible damage to Gil. Tests, attempts to see where my judgment had gone wrong, mild cruelties that were my way of rebuking Gil as he had rebuked me. But I never caused him the sort of agony that Nadil and his minions did, something he forgets. Then again, if I'd never sold him away, the worse he would have had to face would have been you, picking on him behind my back.

I know he never realized that, and it still makes me angry to this day. I can't presume to describe his feelings, but I know he never got past the rage and distrust... Maybe he thought there was nothing to find beyond them. My efforts were ignored completely; your meals went to waste, the fine clothes I set out were shredded: Gil repeatedly bit that hand that fed him, without understanding what both the offer and the refusal meant. You understand, don't you? The decision to sell Gil away was not simply a matter of dislike, boredom... It was an amalgam of his hate and my own, a vast trench of bitter hate between us; completely insurmountable.

I am impatient, you know, it took roughly a month for me to give up on Gil completely, to fully turn my back on him and end all my attempts -all my hopes- to make him a part of our lives. Were you surprised I chose Nadil? We were most certainly not allies—in fact we were at each others throats more often that not. It's not a shock that I have avoided thinking about he and his minions until now, but at this point, I cannot continue to pretend they do not exist—because he was, and is to this moment, one of the most crucial players in this story. I wouldn't have a thing to blame him for... But his possession of Rath nearly drove me out of my mind.

I am wandering again. I suppose the real reason I did not simply let Gil go was _because_ I was so bitter, because I felt so slighted. I wanted to hurt him, I wanted to make him feel as utterly rejected as I had. I wanted him to realize what opportunity he had lost. Ironically, he never did—his torture there and his time in my castle became one and the same. As I watched Shydeman carry him away, I honestly did not feel even the tiniest bit of guilt. I remember thinking that Gil was getting exactly what he deserved.

Was this cruelty on my part? This little vengeance, the same desire as always just a little darker: feel what I feel! Can't your heart understand mine? Of course not—no one is truly capable of hearing the deepest, most unfiltered desires of others. Even children, brothers, lovers, fathers, friends and foes; no one can ever hope to breach the darkness or the light of someone else's heart. They are simply too inexplicable, too complete and complicated. To know everything in another's soul -his hopes, dreams, faiths, lies- is simply too much to comprehend.

They are secrets for a reason, I have come to realize, secret because to know someone else is to lose part of yourself. Knowing the true thoughts of a companion is finding what you always thought was accepted (your habits, your mannerisms) is actually grating, actually hated. Can you imagine? Knowing every deep and private of feeling of someone else? How could you not try to change yourself to fit this person's desires? How could you stay true to your beliefs if you knew some part of them caused another deep and lasting grief? How could you not lose yourself trying to satisfy someone else? ...Even so, this is just what I wanted: someone to see and accept the most hidden and hated parts of me. I wanted to be understood.

To want what we can never have... That is, I think, the nature of hearts.

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Review Responses:  
**RandomRathFan:** I didn't update soon, sorry. I'm very glad you liked the last chapter, thank you for reviewing!  
**Yami-chan and the Unrealistic:** I'm so sick right now, I hope this chapter wasn't as terrible as I know it is. Anyway, thank you for reviewing so faithfully!

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	13. Angel in Descent

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Author's Notes: GOLLY GEE WILLIKERS BATMAN, is this what I think it is? You guessed it kiddies, an update… in less than two months! In roughly one and half months, if we're talking technically! Can you believe that? Neither can I! I don't know what happened, but I've suddenly become so active! I think it's those iron pills I took. Turns out I was severely anemic and didn't even know it! I'm a 'tard. But anyway, here's the fateful chapter… Rath, or hee hee, someone else, if we're talking technical. This chapter is special in it's own way, I promise. I am also not that proud of it, as there are parts I think could be dramatically better… But hey, it stays original, that much I can say.

**PLEASE NOTE: After this point, my story will begin to proceed behind the scenes of the actual Dragon Knights story. Everything that occurs after this point is my attempt to tie together everything we know about Kharl, Rath, and the events that lead up to the volumes' plot. Please, please do not forget that most of what I write after this is purely my own _speculation_ and my own personal predictions about the plot and character. If you don't believe it, completely understandable.**

Disclaimer: I write for no profit.

Background Music: Soul Systems Burn (King Black Acid)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 13-_  
Angel in Descent

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So then it has come to this. I have been wondering for some time if I would even make it so far into my own memories. How much blood can I possibly have left? There's so much of it on the floor... Maybe some of it is his; maybe in the end I didn't achieve anything at all. Maybe he was still injured, still teetering so close to the border between life and death. Then again, I doubt that. For Rath, dying must be something of an unattainable dream, a cruel joke—you see, I made it impossible from him to pass out of this world. After all, souls can't die, and in the end that is all Rath really is: a soul, a heart. My heart, in fact. 

I have often thought of Rath as an end of a time in my life, a portion of my past... but this isn't the correct way of thinking at all—because Rath is, and will always be, the beginning of everything. I can't honestly say when the idea took hold me of me. It was sometime between the start of the project and my rejection by Gil... But I don't think I could ever pick out the one moment when I decided that I was going to create a child for myself. There was, in those years, a gray haze over my mind, a loneliness that made thinking of almost all else impossible. Of course I did other things –like staying alive– but my whole heart was focused on the one idea that I had to find someone, create someone, who would love me completely and fully.

It was probably in the months after Gil left the castle. There was this sort of silence that hung over the place; only broken once in a while by your shouting. It was an emptiness that plagued me more than even my failure with the Yuba child. But there was more to it than that. I think, in the end, Rath was born not just because of my own desire to have someone beside me, but from the horrible silence that seemed to hover over both us and all of Arinas. I wanted to hear something besides my own voice… I wanted to bring warmth back into my home. As I have always done, I think I was trying not only to satisfy my own wishes but correct my grave mistakes. I had destroyed the continent, allowed it to die… I had single-handedly drained my own life of light, and I wanted to fix that.

Rath did not come easily or quickly. After the failure with Gil I was much less confident, a little more aware that I could make mistakes… So it was with hesitance and care that I began the same dream in a different manner. Was there a realization there on my part? I don't recall anything of the sort. Did I realize that I could not take someone out of there own life; could not force someone with their own hopes and desires to conform to my own, to love me? I must have understand this on some level, but I am certain that I did not really believe that –did not really believe that I could not have my own way– until today. It makes so much sense now that I can look back on it without prejudice. Of course Gil could never have loved me. Of course Rath will always hate me. I ignored their hearts in favor of my own.

When the idea to forge a soul and body completely on my own really came into being, I knew it would not be simple. Making souls was easy—making the perfect soul was going to be damn near impossible. How can I explain the determination I felt? I wanted this more than anything, more than the air I was breathing. I was ready to give my entire life over for this. It was not only my magic that went into the making of Rath, but my sweat, my blood, my soul. Rath is more a part of me than he will ever be anything else—above being a Knight, above being a Dragon Lord, above being an unstoppable demon, he is my son.

Maybe I should give up thinking that--after all, the entire idea of the term implies love and acceptance, two things Rath will never associate with my name. But what else can I call him? For Gil, who hated me, the sterile terms of 'experiment' or 'creation' were more than fitting, but for Rath, those words would never suffice. He was not some game, not a once used toy... I meant for Rath to be the family I'd been dreaming of forever. It's a travesty—the world I slaved to build has fallen so far into decay that there is almost nothing left of it; perhaps this is a misconception and it simply never existed at all.

I've lost the thread, lost myself in all the conflicting ideas and emotions that make up my view of him. But it's nearly impossible not to stray—Rath and Rath's birth are so complex that even I can hardly keep them straight in my memory. Even so, I want to remember everything correctly—if this is my last chance to revel in the feelings of my greatest triumph and my greatest failure, I want them to be real, not mistakes, no false memories. So I am determined to lay down the notions as they came; lay every action in proper order. Still, I know it will be a tangled mess: nothing about Rath is simple.

I never knew where it had begun, but once it had taken hold me, I was hopeless, a man possessed. I spent days on end simply _thinking_ the idea. I'm sure you thought I had gone mad. I holed myself up in the strangest of places -the library, the kitchen, a back staircase or two- more than once you caught me pacing aimlessly, intent so completely on my thoughts that I had gone blind to my surroundings. It was because I wanted to perfect everything. I would not let myself rush in again—this time I would have the perfect soul. When I say 'perfect' you must know I mean it. I truly believed I could create something flawless. I spent fifteen years dreaming it.

Certainly it was not simply fifteen years (hardly an eye blink compared to what I have lived) of thinking—it was fifteen years of practice, of research, of preparation. I worked so diligently in that time that the alchemy of souls became more than simply second nature to me—my own unique ability had always been manipulation of youki, something that evolved completely into the creation of demons. I worked with such devotion that by the end of that eye blink I believed myself ready to achieve what all the world has been striving for for centuries--perfection. I had the ability, and I had the image in my mind.

See, I've ever forgotten to describe Rath as I wanted him to be. I had a solid image of him in my head that had come completely unbidden to me. Pale, soft skin, a bright smile... For some reason, I could never imagine him with my own light hair. It was always dark: shades of black, brown, even red—though this last I contemplated only briefly, as it reminded me so much of my recent failure with Gil. Finally, my imagination settled on a dark chocolate color, far from me but not my polar opposite: a symbol of a child completely independent yet loyal to his creator. The body itself, I knew, would begin by looking human. Without a youkai soul within it would never show what traits I would bury carefully into the heart: crimson eyes, delicate fangs, and a power both my own and not.

Can you see this child as I can? Impossibly fragile and innocent, the container for a soul that would be faultless, a mind that would rival my own in time, a porcelain doll made real with a magic deeper and more ancient than the others will ever know. This perfect body, which I wove entirely of spells, made solid with my own blood and my own consciousness… Do you know what happened to it? I spent so long working on this tiny form (hardly even your height); I gave my heart over to creating the figure that I wanted to take a place in my life… And I lost it, in the end. For so long, I assumed it had simply broken apart when he shattered. I believed it lost, destroyed, another portion of my heart stolen away in that horrible defeat. But, I was wrong.

In a sense, the body survived. How, even I am not sure, though I believe it now to be the fault (the grace) of faeries. In the chaos that was the first slaughter, there were so many lost souls… Whose ended up in the body? In the end, I can't be certain, though my suspicions are almost always correct. I have never truly had a chance to speak with this soul, this being hidden inside the shell of the child I was proud to call my own, who carries my blood and Rath's blood and doesn't even know it. He looks different now, more different than I ever imagined he would, and I can't help but picture him as he should be. Had I not made that grievous mistake, had I not stepped over a threshold I was not ready to cross... This body, this boy who should have been the physical half of my perfect creation, my flawless child—he is called Nohiro now.

If I had the strength left to tell you that truth, I think you would be sorely surprised. You battled him once, didn't you? I know you must have met him, because no one but a bearer of my power could have forced such as change on the Origin, could have negated your ash magic... Oh, I'm sure you'd doubt me, because Nohiro is nothing like myself, not even really like Rath. To explain why he is the way he is requires telling a deeper story that I ever wanted to remember, a story of Rath and Ruin.

The night I began building the body that would house my child, it was stifling, an almost oppressive heat. The air itself was sticky, clinging and wet with something that was not rain but promised it in the near future. It was the sort of humidity that preceded warm thunderstorms of the worst kind. All in all, an unpleasant night--but I hardly noticed this; I was completely focused. The laboratory was cluttered; books and papers and vials of things whose names even I didn't know seemed to spread themselves purposely in all the places I needed clean.

I cleared them with a deft hand, piling and stuffing them into stacks and crowded cabinets—making an even larger mess. If I had let you into the room at that moment, you probably would have been appalled. Despite the heat, my hands were impossibly cold against the glass of the jars and the granite table top. It occurred to me briefly that my skin should be warmer, but it was just a passing thought, a weak wish. I was always cold, would always be cold. Maybe that was part of the reason I crafted the powers I did for him—I wanted him to be a way to find and burn away all my own personal faults. I had locked the door behind me, behind the birds who perched and bated in the rafters. With a rustle of my white cloak, I sat myself before the high table and began.

Crafting a body is much easier than you might imagine—it requires an ancient magic, but though it is made rare and fantastic by it's age, the spells are no more difficult than turning water into wine. Still, even with the less than strenuous nature of the magic, a working body is exceedingly complex. Every individual cell, mitochondria, every atom within those cells must fall into place at exactly the right moment, exactly the right chain to ignite the nerve synapses and start the beating of a heart. Creating monsters, freakish mixtures of animals, demons possessing no human-like form: this is easy, far simpler than the evolved, pristine mortal body. It might take me a day perhaps to build a hundred monsters if the spells are not prefabricated. But, to make the type of body I was planning -flawless, down to the atomic level- I knew it would take longer.

I ate a large lunch the day I began, large enough to make you stare for a good minute. Then, as I pushed myself back against the chilled surface of the high-backed laboratory chair, I prepared myself for the challenge creating such a body was sure to be. In the end, it took a little more than three days to complete. Re-examining the exact workings of the magic for you would be impossible—I simply do not have enough time left to go through the scientific principles. Suffice it to say, creating a body is something like the sewing you love so much. A shell, a container, whatever you might call it, is made up of thousands of tinier parts: the strands of hair, the pores of the skin, the eyelashes, the chemicals in the brain that help define behavior, the impulses that make a heart beat, a body breathe... These are all part of what makes up the outer walls of one's being. These are all like threads that must be woven, by a steady hand, together. No, forging a body is less than the action of actually sewing—it's more like cutting patterns for a beautiful outfit to come.

It is as much science as magic, rearranging air into molecules of organic compounds. It is as much art as uniform knowledge, applying taste and aesthetics to standard, book-based spells... Crafting bodies is a culmination of all the things men are slaves to: strength, weakness, talent, vanity, humility: virtue and vice. All of this goes into making a body—all these things that are as much a part of the crafter's heart as of the world are bound together skillfully to form the shell of what is to be, the physical flesh to house the impressionable soul that will follow. A body has a beating heart, but it is without feeling; a shell is beautiful only in that it has potential -pure potential- to become a full-fledged child.

For three days, I sat as motionless as a Catholic icon, palms upturned upon my knees, draped in robes that were white at my beginning but graying with the first hints of dust after such an extended period of stillness. For three days you did not dare to interrupt me; for three days I focused mind, body and magic for the task, binding each atom together with all the skill of a seamstress at her spinning wheel. In those three days, I drained myself completely, sparing nothing on this creation... I came close to failing once, a tiny tremble of my mind, the weakest of slips. Giving so much fatigued me; on the last day it was a struggle to even keep the magic up, to keep my own heart beating.

But then, after what seemed like an eternity, I finished. How can I describe the feeling of holding your child for the first time? It was an intense happiness -no deeper- something indescribable and pure. I think it is probably the most benevolent I have ever felt, a deep sort of peace that made all my fatigue and frustrations seem less than the smallest of concerns. The form seemed so small in my lap, weak and fragile beneath the thick folds of white cloth. A little hand, even smaller than yours, the ghost a childish smile—it was truly like holding an angel in my arms. There might have been one moment, only a moment, when looking at this perfection made me feel corrupted, as if my fanged smile and clawed touch were not meant to enclose this thing I had created—but this thought was gone within a breath, because I _had_ created this boy, because this innocence was from me, a part of me. Fatigue clawed none too gently at my temples; unable to maintain my own mental functions, I slipped into sleep, smiling genuinely for the first time in months. In my arms, I could feel the tiny, steady heartbeat synchronizing with my own.

How many days I laid there, I am not sure, but it must have been quite a while, judging from your reaction as I stumbled out of the room. Whether you had been waiting patiently by the door for days (wracked with curiosity no doubt), or just happened to be passing at that very moment, your eyes widened and pleasant sort of admiration seemed to brighten your whole face.

"Master Kharl!" The subdued exclamation was a poor attempt at hiding your happiness and relief. What, did you think I'd curled up in there and died? Macabre as the thought was, I couldn't help but smile at the way some gathered tension and loneliness seemed to leave you, dissipating as if it had never existed at all. There was some part of me that was amazed at this, how highly you held me. I think what was even more stunning than your sincere happiness to see me was the twinge of fleeting guilt I felt when you smiled up as if I hadn't ignored your existence for more than a week. Unwilling to admit to you the sudden regret I felt at shutting you out of my grand scheme, I chose the easiest thing I could. With a weary sigh, I leaned heavily on the door frame, creasing my dusty white cloak.

"I'm hungry Garfakcy." Obediently nodding, you ran off like cooking had been the only thing on your mind for days. I watched you go, ignoring the sliver of guilt that came again—the guilt of knowing that behind the heavy oak door I'd shut as I'd come through it, a body I hadn't mentioned was breathing, a heart I hadn't told you of was beating.

The breakfast -or lunch, as it was well past morning- you laid out in minutes could have fed Nadil's entire army for a week. Biscuits and rolls of every bake and bread, eggs in at least five different forms, bacon, pancakes, a wild assortment of fruit from the garden (which, to my astonishment, was flourishing without any of my help). By choosing just a tiny bit of everything I could reach I filled my plate in seconds. The food was, as always simply delicious, and I know I must have been complimenting it quite beautifully, because you hardly took a bite. You were always like that: as soon as I said anything positive about your cooking, you'd stop eating, as if there wasn't enough to go around and you were taking my share of the excellent meal! After a while, I'd learned to avoid the topic and speak of other things.

To your credit, you never once asked me what I had done in the laboratory. I know you must have been dying to figure it out, but unlike any human I'd ever met, you seemed to always have a firm command over your own curiosity. No matter how desperately you want to look, to ask, you held yourself back. The only indication of longing to know was a dancing light in your jade eyes. At the time I was grateful, because for some reason (selfishness no doubt) I didn't want to share my achievement with you. Maybe it is simply that I had always enjoyed keeping secrets. I wish now that you had asked, had pulled so sort of confession out of me. Maybe your human practicality could have prevented the mistake.

I had fallen deeply into the project, yet I did not want to begin crafting the soul, the most important piece, immediately. Not only because I was weary but because I wanted to take the utmost care with what I was doing. I knew the consequences of creating new souls, I knew the danger. I may be making excuses—halting because of danger is not something I can imagine myself doing is not something I can imagine myself doing. More honestly, I did not want to myself feel any guiltier by ignoring you again after just returning.

The afternoon after I awoke was probably one of the most pleasant I have ever spent in the castle. The heat of mid-summer had dulled into the crispness of an early fall, and a gentle breeze ruffled everything it could touch. I spent the hours before sunset helping (or hindering, depending on whose opinion I am to believe) you in the garden, pruning (mangling) every plant in reach. When I finally tumbled into my mountain of plush pillows, I failed to notice just how much of a mess I'd made of myself—my hair, face and arms were covered in smudges of dirt, and my clothes were simply a mess of dark with occasional white spots. (It was around this year that you started to make me outfits of deeper colors, grumbling all the while about mess-magnets.) I finally feel asleep, with a smiles and dreams of gardening and souls.

When I began the preparations for what I knew would be my greatest achievement, I began them in earnest. I sealed myself away again, ensconced with the hollow shell of my child, the empty white eyes and heartless heartbeat. I knew what I wanted, who I wanted to create—and I knew how it was to be done. That night, with a full orange moon perched on my shoulder, I severed my ties with consciousness and gave my body over to the impossibly powerful magic that would need to flow through me. Creating souls is twice the chore of creating bodies because it does not deal with physical elements but with spirit—the powerful, indescribable energy that gives eyes their light, smiles their warmth, living creatures their behavioral attributes. It is not something modern science can hope to explain; it is something I can easily manipulate but never understand. Like hope, guilt, Heaven and Hell, soul simply _is_. It is this outside force that I manipulate, twisting and molding it into exactly the shape I require of it, the exact level of complexity I desire.

Drawing the magic is simple—it requires only the barest of sacrifices. Creating a drone is nothing: the birds alone are enough power to create a legion of such creatures. But to forge a truly complex creature, a true child, the power needed is something unlike anything else in world, greater than the birds could ever manage alone. The sacrifice required to bring such power under my own control was no small thing—nothing less than pouring my entire body into the spell could have sufficed. Can you see how important this was to me? With this power, I ran the risk of not only of losing all my work but damaging myself as well. When I began I believed this was going to be only succeed or fail—I never imagined that there were options worse than simply dying; that near success could hurt me more than losing everything.

I wanted this soul to be my finest, the strongest, purest magic I'd ever forged. I wanted this child to be warmth, a flame to my impenetrable cold. I could feel the brightness of crimson eyes and delicate fingers tugging my own long before they existed. As I channeled and wove life gently I imagined a crystalline laugh, a cheeky grin, boiling over with an inner blaze that I myself would always lack. This dark-haired child would be forever my opposite and forever my reflection—Yin and Yang; dark and light, locked together, separate yet inseparable; so far apart that they cannot help touching, back to back, blending into each other, nothing without the other. I dreamed of, I made a companion, a son, a brother, something indescribable, the other half of my heart. Ruin, I wanted to call him, my red flame.(1)

I had such strong convictions, such stable unwavering visions of what I was going to achieve... I never imagined that I could have miscalculated. Every drop of magic was perfect; every tiny piece was flawless, stable and working. In the end, the mistake was not the fault of outside forces but my own heart. I was nearly through creating the soul, so close to finishing it that I could have almost wrapped my fingers around a completed child—and then I lost everything. I had wanted this companion to share my feelings, my experience, my heart. I wanted him to be not only a carrier of my blood, but someone whose deepest levels could understand my own—so as I gave over my blood (feeling the loss as a slow dizziness), I tried to impart my love, my power, the truths I held and dreams I entertained... I gave everything; it was meant to be an impression, but I nearly gave up my whole soul.

Suddenly, I wasn't myself, no longer in control, wavering, buffeted, frightened and unsure of what was going on inside me. It was the barest of seconds before I understood: in trying to gather part of my own heart, I had overstepped the boundary between my body and the spirit I was creating. I was being devoured! It wasn't conscious thought, simply a primal knowledge—if I did not force a separation now, I was going to die, to end up like the shell breathing slowly in my lap. But to pull back now... I took only one breath, had enough time to take only one breath, and then I ripped my soul away. It was a physical movement too; I pushed myself back from the grand chair. Unable to control my own body, I collapsed, Ruin limply hitting the stone ground beside me. I was gasping, simultaneously feeling a reluctant reconnection with my body -a hollow feeling with the barest of tingling in my fingers, splayed out on the cold stone under me- and the feeling of knowing I'd just damaged, destroyed, lost the most precious thing I'd ever made.

The soul was almost palpable in the chill of the dark room -for a still second there was nothing but silence, when even my shaking breath seemed dulled or nonexistent- then in the next moment the entire room shook with a ear-splitting howl. The sound was terrible, fierce and completely untamed. If I could have lifted my hands to my ears, I would have, but I found myself frozen, in vast amounts of pain. The entire room seemed to boil with the heat of the unseen presence. I couldn't breathe, I must have hit my head because blood was running into my eyes, I couldn't think clearly, couldn't utter a word... I remember blinking back darkness, tasting the bitter blood and defeat in my mouth, desperate to end the sound, weak and hollow. I was missing part of myself and numb, willing to do anything to undo my own mistake.

But the howl continued, endless and impossibly powerful, the unfiltered sound of a soul, and I felt the noise not only in my ears but in my mind, my entire body, my unwhole heart. I felt something break, a cold trickle of blood wormed itself out of my ear and the pressure, the heat became simply too much for me to withstand—I lost control of myself. My youki plummeted and spiked uncontrollably, I felt my wings spill around me, rustling against the stone, and I truly thought for a moment that I was going to die—worse still, I wanted to.

As if that thought had power, the screaming ceased—there was a whisper like feathers against feathers, and then I felt the shift like a horrible lurch in my stomach. The damaged soul was still trying to reach the body it was intended for! Barely able to lift my head, I desperately tried to blink red from my eyes. The air was alive with the oppressive humidity of demon power more powerful than I'd ever expected—with jerky movements, the empty body rose to its small feet, white cloak spilling around pale shoulders, and the thin fragile neck.

Ruin rose, staring into my with eyes hollow and white, irises blank, expression slack and terrible to gaze on. I could almost see the soul trying to enter the flesh, and prayed it should -though I understood that without my help it would fail- I felt suddenly a horrible helplessness, inevitability, I was shivering. For a moment, I started, the body's eyes flickered, leaking into the barest hint of red, the barest hint of a heart beneath the surface—as if trying to reach me, pleading with me, crying for me, the soul attempted to lift the child's hands in my direction desperately, tiny fingers clawing to close the distance between us. I shut my eyes, I could not look at it.

In the next moment I forced my eyes open again, I knew I had to see—it was not morbid curiosity but morbid fear, fear that if I did not keep my eyes open, I would lose even more, would cause even more damage. But everything was already lost! I felt my heart breaking, and this time it was not failed magic but something deeper and far worse. I took a breath and it felt like my first, my last. Can it even be called that? It was really a gasp, weak and wet as blood found its way between my lips again. It was nothing more than that -only one gasp!- and everything _shattered_.

A violent wind ripped through the room, tearing papers to pulp, sending hundreds of bottles ripping off the shelves, hitting the floor and exploding into many tiny poison coated pieces. I felt the shrapnel dash across me, ripping feathers, pale skin and paler cloth, skittering across the stone in a perverse and mocking melody. There was an echo of the horrible scream, and I felt the soul, the creature, surge upward. Far above, the enormous pane glass window burst, raining mirrory silver shards like blizzard snow down on the room. The standing body -Ruin!- wavered, eyes going blank as a blind man's once again. For a second I watched that tiny body crumple... and then there was no body to see. Another breath, and all that remained of the creation I had given my blood, my power and my heart to make were a few slowly descending black feathers.

I watched them drift, shivering against the stone, and something in my mind curled in on itself, something disappeared—I felt not only cold but alone, abandoned... The thought of standing up, of picking myself out of the growing puddle, looking at what had happened with a clear mind, living on... It was unbearable, more even than the howling of the soul, more even than the shards of glass in my side. Trembling, defeated, I wanted only for the tiny remaining bit of my demon power to cease, to stop congealing the blood sluggishly dripping from my wounds. For a few minutes I wavered in the dizzy world between unconsciousness and waking and prayed I'd bleed to death. Ironic, considering that is exactly what is happening to me now.

Maybe I would have died then, exhausted, stripped bare of my illusions and lost... But I was saved. Rescued by a tiny human with too much emotion and a cloudy future. I was seeing the world only blearily through half-lidded eyes, but I hear my heart, and then suddenly beyond that, footsteps pounding, racing. Closer, closer. The door burst open, but I could not turn to look. It was all right, I knew already. A breathe, a sharp intake with the rattle of fear rent my silence, drowning out the sound of my own heart... Then you were beside me, kneeling in the slivers of glass, shouting. For a moment, the words were unintelligible, just so much sound and lips moving and I didn't try to even listen, because I was caught by something entirely else—your eyes were so wide, horrified, bright, dark, something I had never seen, and wet. I could see what I had never seen before in your orbs, smell the hint of salt... In your gaze I could see frightened -angry- tears threatening to spill over.

"Lord Kharl!" It was a shaking voice that did not suit you, and it bothered me, enough to rouse myself from the weighing pity. I forced my fingers to move, more difficult that I understood; it seemed the greatest chore in the world to wave my hand dismissively. "Why are you-what happened-answer me-who-how!" Whatever you were crying I couldn't make any sense of the words. I couldn't help but watch your hands instead—because you had reached out touch me, and all of your small fingers were painted in my blood. My head pounded, my whole form seemed remarkably slow to react to the orders my brain was sending. Like some sort of dying bird -dying angel- I forced myself to my knees, ignoring the crack of glass beneath my palms. A sharp wave of nausea overtook me, and things swam in and out of focus... And then it was past, my body systems thoroughly shaken but healing.

"Lord Kharl!" You looked like you wanted to help me, half-sitting there, unsure and moving like you suffering a nightmare and not reality. I don't know what stopped you. Fear maybe, pity? I didn't care then, I wonder now in retrospect. I steadied my gaze, reached a stained red hand, and pulled a single black feather from the floor. You knew it was not mine. You said nothing. It was flawless, as beautiful as I'd dreamed, and it was all I had left—a sore reminder of my own failure. It was not anger, it was not desolation, but I let the feather fall again, watched it sink into a splash of my blood, and felt that I would never be the same. "Master Kharl... Are you going to be all right?" Your voice was tiny, frightened, pleading to me as Ruin had done before he'd shattered... "Are you going to be all right?"

"No," my voice was almost as unintelligible as yours, "I won't be."

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Notes:  
1 – Ruin is Elvish for "Red Flame". Many of the Dragon Knights characters bear Elvish names, including Gil, Laamgarnas, Robal, Rath and Rune. I just saw that word and couldn't help myself… I mean, come on, look at the double meaning! Rath and Ruin…

Author's Notes: Blah, blah. This chapter was written in a record 43 days. I'm so proud of myself, hee hee. So yeah, there it is, what do you think? Please review!

Review Responses:

**Lumikuu:** Ha ha.. I'm Kharl! (Cutting the hair in a 'fro now!) Nyaa, but thank you so much for saying that. I tried really hard to keep all that in character, so I'm glad you think it went well. What about this chapter, crazy or?  
**RandomRathFan:** I wrote this fast just to prove your review false! No, I'm kidding. But heck, 43 days is A LOT shorter than six months. I now have made a nice little deadline chart for myself… I believe the next chapter is due in about thirty days! Ehhh, I better get to work! T.T  
**Yami-chan and the Unrealistic:** I'm very glad you liked the last chapter. I like to believe that with Kharl and Gil there's a lot of emotion that doesn't get talked about in the manga. Thank you for reviewing as always, and I hope this chapter wasn't a disappointment. It came pretty quick though, right?

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	14. After the Fall

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Author's Notes: Can I get a giant OMG, because I seriously deserve one. 13 DAYS. That's right, the longest Cloaks chapter (nearly 10,000 words) was written in just 13 days. I am so proud of myself right now! But actually, I'm not that proud because this chapter just sorta… I don't know, I had to throw a lot of events together: I had to cover the slaughter (and subsequent demonization) of the Faeries, Kharl discovering what Ruin had become, and Lykouleon taking in the possessed Illuser. I'm glad for having a plot to follow more securely now, but some things are really irritating… You know, those damn plot holes! Anyway, like I mentioned last chapter, please don't take anything to heart, I don't know how much of what I'm writing is true. (Maybe it's all wrong!) Anyway, I was really excited about writing this chapter, but it turned out to be a lot harder to write than I expected. Faeries suck—only kidding of course.

Disclaimer: Pssh please. Last time I checked, my native language was English.

Background Music: The Dark (Trans-Siberian Orchestra)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 14-_  
After the Fall

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It is hard for me to go farther—impossibly hard, harder. To lose a child... To lose a heart, a beating solid heart; a hand, an eye, a laugh... It is a pain that is not physical but is—I did not know how to feel it, but still it came, oblivious to my ignorance, uncaring of my reason. I felt as if everything inside me was wasteful, useless: I dreamed, for a moment, sitting there, that I might be able to bring him back. I could give my soul now, was it too late? I dreamed, just briefly, that I could be happy dying, could be happy if he was whole, alive. And then your tiny hands closed over my shoulder, gently but feeling like the heaviest blow. I was myself again for a moment, strong, clear-minded, and I realized the madness in what I had been thinking one moment before. Ruin was precious, impossibly so, but to sacrifice myself that he might live would defeat the intention which caused me to create him. To share my heart with him, I had to have one. 

Then, the clarity of that discovery faded, and there was only the hollow swelling inside me—threatening to burst out. A worried tear traversed your cheek, and I was happy looking at it -no, not happy, never, but relieved- because it felt as if you were doing what I could not, as if your worry had burst free, and even I could see it leeching out of you. To watch you express things so easily, without even thinking of them... I wanted to do this too, to find some way to make my broken form scream out the excruciating loss, the hatred at myself, at whichever god had failed to protect Ruin and I, the self-pity. Like the letting of blood, I wanted and lacked anyway to let it go. I tried to smile for you, to ease some of the fear that I could almost see burning in you, but it failed miserably, your watery stare only darkened. You were too small to lift me, but I think you would have tried to pick me out of the mess of blood and feathers if you could have.

Instead, I had to stand on my own. I was still reeling, but feeling was returning to my fingers, the tremors were stilling slowly, I could feel the blood clotting over the cut on my head and the scratches over my side and back swiftly. Tentatively, I extended the tiniest bit of youki to try and bring my own form back under control. For a moment the power wavered, shaky and unsure, and then its fluidity returned and my felt my wings dissolve, the illusion of dissolving... I was my hidden self again, looking sorely defeated and ready to fall.

It was your suggestion that prompted my movement at all. "Master Kharl, you need to wash those wounds." I jerked at the voice, hearing you clearly for the first time that night. I did need to clean the wounds, as in my weakened state infection was no small threat; this made sense to me in a foreign, distant way, as if the slightly damaged form I was wearing was not my own. With tiny, unsure footsteps, I carried myself from the room where I had lost my greatest dream, where I had forged my own greatest failure. The lit hallway seemed like a strange, overly bright paradise after the darkness and chill of the laboratory. Silent, as unsure as I was, you followed after me, again the puppy dog of your earlier days. It was late, I could tell by the lowly burning candles of the hall, and I thought suddenly that you ought to be in bed, and that the morning would be unpleasant for both of us.

I turned a little, gave you the barest of pushes in the direction of your own room, the only gesture I could manage for the moment.

"Go to sleep Garfakcy, I'll take care of this."

"Your idea of taking care of injuries is just leaving them alone." The cross-armed glare you shot me was almost entertaining, I thought if I had the energy or heart I might have smiled. "You need to wash those wounds in alcohol... Who knows what was in those bottles."

"I'll survive." Though I may not want to. "Go on now." I gave you another gentle push, a touch I meant to be reassuring. It worked, seemed to, because you dropped your arms with a heavy sigh and stomped away. But it was part facade, I could tell, because more than anything, the stiffness of your steps betrayed how unsure you were truly feeling. What was it like for you to see me this way? Me, the unshakable Master, the genius, the even-tempered angel... To see me marred, damaged, lacking control and hardly able to stand? Did you wonder what caused it? Could you ever have dreamed that it was my own child, my own creation that put these festering lacerations on my pale hands and back?

I was so glad, so relieved, that you were ignorant to my failure. Maybe it was self-depreciative, but I was afraid, that night, that if you knew what I had tried to do, what I had failed to do, that you might think less of me. I was really terrified, without even really knowing why, that I might diminish in your eyes. I could not stand the thought of you pitying me in any way, and I determined then, leaning against the wall and watching you shrink with each step down the impossible corridor, that I would never tell you what had happened behind the sealed laboratory doors.

When I finally heard the click of your knob turning back into place, I knew that I could not simply dawdle in the hallway any longer. Forcing myself to move again, I carried my aching form down the winding stone stair (God, was it always this narrow and dark?). The bath seemed miles away, and each step felt as if it was taking more than I had left to offer. I was so concentrated on keeping myself moving steadily forward that it came almost as a shock when the toe of my dirty white boot hit the carven oak door of the baths. Pushing it felt like pushing a stone wall, and I was amazed to find my arms aching.

No, I was not amazed—scientifically, it was logical that I would be weakened. I had given up roughly two and a half pints of my blood, more than enough to leave any human dazed or dead, I had taken an uncertain amount of poisons and foreign bloods in through my open cuts. Across the Eastern wall, a silvery mirror wreathed in gold and immobile cherubs mocked me, showing me more awful than I felt—I was gray-skinned, eyes and veins standing out in stark and sickly contrast in every place that was not coated with congealing blood, dried and cracking already in some places. My cheeks were red with it, my bangs horribly stained… I had cut a place just above my temple on an edge of the stone floor when I fell from the chair. My cloak was irreparable, torn by glass shrapnel and corroded by whatever acids I'd been unknowing nestling in that room.

Leaning down to turn the faucet on elicited a wince, but nothing more, and I knew within a few days my pale skin would bare none of the scars of this night that my heart could never heal from. The water rushed over the marble of the sunken pool, filling it slowly with a sound that mimicked the whisper of rain through leaves. With a sigh, I sunk myself delicately into the water, hissing as liquid rushed into each new mark on my flesh. It was hot, rather too hot, and steam rose of the surface in dancing smoky tendrils that quickly made the air of the room warm and humid. I was glad when the mirror fogged over, hiding from my too alert eyes the reflected scars of miscarriage.

The unchanging warmth seemed to seep through me, attaching to the very marrow of my bones, and the gentle caress of the water, once I had adjusted to it, was pleasant against my bare skin. In the flickering candlelight of the room the fading steam seemed like ethereal ghosts, tentatively reaching for me, dancing away from me, full of some wisdom I did not know, and unwilling to impart it to me. Thoughts like those should have bothered me, but watching the dreamy diffusion of shed-blood cells splitting and breaking apart, clinging each other like desperate lovers until the final moment of dissipation, seemed to slow my mind to the numbed state that is not shock but might as well be. I watched the blood peel itself from my wounds and pale skin, watched it drift through the barely moving water in tiny red clouds, then watched it vanish without a true trace—just like the rising steam, just like the breaking soul.

I can't tell you how long I stayed there, resting my heavy head against the carved stone edge, listening to the gentle drag of the water's surface across my skin. The candles burnt low, the room fell darker and darker and cold. The mirror cleared again, and still I did not bother to move. At last, when the water too began to chill, I knew I was risking falling asleep in the bath, and forced myself to move. It was the first brisk movement since the accident, and it stung but was almost a relieving pain. I pushed my head under the water, running fingers through it to clear away the sticky blood. The entire side where I struck the stone was sore, and I made myself flinch more than once trying to clean the clumped blood from the wound.

Finally, all traces of the stains that had marred my paleness were inside my head and not on its surface, and I pulled myself from the haven of the bath. The air was cold again, and it interested me to watch goosebumps rise over my bare arms. With deft fingers, I tugged a long terrycloth robe over my shoulders. It was black, and on me, the color was unappealing: it lightened my already too alabaster skin. I caught my reflection in the mirror again and it stunned me. There in the glass was a man I could hardly recognize.

Beneath my light eyes were dark circles, signs of the exhaustion I felt but was avoiding. My lilac hair was limp, hanging in my face and dripping down my shoulders. By morning, it would be standing on end just as lively as ever, but now it made me look half-drowned, clinging awkwardly and refusing to dry. Still, it was the marble white skin that shocked me, standing out against the midnight fabric. Looking into mirror was like staring at a statue, the carved form of an archaic angel, fallen half into ruin. It was too easy to picture cracks running over my surface, tiny chips missing from my skin, jagged indentations of an unsteady hand. Time and Fate were wearing me away.

Maybe it was anger that made me turn away from the reflected man, maybe it was disgust. With footsteps more sure than I had offered coming in, I fled the bath and the gazes of the grinning cherubs. I ascended the staircase again, and this time even its darkness did not bother me. The torches in the hall were stumps, nearly to the metal rings that would stop their burning, smoldering in spots and ash white in others. My senses were still clouded, but not enough to miss your steady breath behind the nearby door, like a metronome, telling me you were getting the sleep I desperately needed. I muffled my footsteps out of courtesy, and crossed the distance to my own room.

The moonlight created shadows in the room that would never exist by day, exaggerating every shape and dulling every outline. It was brighter in the room than normal nights; the moon seemed almost too close. Weakly, I slid between the sheets, fresh and smelling like the rain-scented soap you were so fond of. The material was cold against my bare feet and hands, pleasantly cold. I buried my face in my pillow, unable and unwilling to move any more than that. I was sure that sleep would never come this night, but that was an incorrect assumption. Within in minutes, I was unconscious, the deep sort of sleep that doesn't allow for dreams. Thank God, because I surely would have had nightmares.

The morning dawned cold and misty, and I could not have approved of the weather more. After such a dark night, thinking of sunlight disgusted me. I felt honestly that the sun should never shine again. Nevertheless, I felt almost free now that the darkness had ended, and the day made distant all the horrors. I could not move to lift myself from the bed—going about my daily life seemed utterly impossible and revolting. I did not want to eat, to read, to even bother looking at anything more complicated than the unchanging rafters of my ceiling. I wanted silence, a moment to think clearly about where I had gone wrong, a moment to reflect on myself and dream of ways I could have stopped everything from crumbling around me.

This respite seemed far from coming, because just as I pulled the covers further over my face, you rapped respectfully on the door. For a moment, I considered ignoring you, pretending to be asleep, but then this seemed too cruel, because I knew how concerned you were and how helpful you loved to be. It would be unfair of me to seek solace in thinking and leave you wondering and worried. I half-muttered the "Enter," but you did not fail to hear it or to do just what I'd commanded. When you marched into the room, it was carefully, bearing a tray loaded with cakes and a delicate china tea set that I had not even known we owned. The scent of the tea was calming, a hint of lavender and orange that I loved, and even though the thought of eating anything was repulsive, you did not have to work hard to convince me to take a cup from you.

It was hot, warming the porcelain and my palms nicely after the chill of the morning air, and I cupped it in my both my hands just for this reason, taking delicate sip after sip. You drank too, having seated yourself on a plush stool beside my bed. For a long time, between us was only the sound of drinking, the quite half-sigh as each swill of heat warmed our stomachs. Then, and I am not sure who started the conversation, we simply talked. Not of the past night, never of that, but of everything else: of weather and demons and battles and lemon cake. It was pleasant to simply say whatever came to mind between drinks of cooling tea, and I was glad you had come. When we'd finally gone through the pot and you'd eaten half the cakes I couldn't bring myself to touch, and there was nothing left for me to say that did not bring to mind horrible mistakes, you seemed to know that now I needed to be alone. You left without a word and only a miniscule glare at the uneaten pastries.

Before your coming I had thought I would be happy in the silence, but now it seemed lacking, and instead of thinking clearly about my errors, I could only imagine half-blindly what could have been. I had wanted to make myself move on, but alone with only the lingering scent of lavender, I had trapped myself in the past. Over and over again I imagined the pain in the cloudy red eyes, the tiny hand clawing helplessly for my own; over and over I blamed myself and drained my own will to continue, to move from the bed and begin life anew without Ruin. For four days, I simply sat, hardly sleeping, refusing to eat whatever you brought to me, drinking lavender tea and simply dreaming. I was afraid inside but it was not strong enough to pierce the indifference that had spread like ice over my face. I was afraid that I was going to waste away, and could not find reason why I shouldn't!

On the fifth morning, reason came. I had been ignoring everything around me, listening only to your meaningless talk of soap and the garden for several days—but today you brought me news that sent a shock rippling through me, enough to stir my heart again, enough to make me take a teacake: it was snowing. In the middle of the tropical Arinain summer, it was snowing. In fact, you muttered, it was not only snowing, it was raining, hailing, windy, and all of this was plagued by sudden heat waves and sunshine that seemed to declaim everything from the chilly moments prior. You were confused and irritated, but I was only interested, because I knew what erratic weather meant—something was disturbing the faeries.

I pulled myself free of the sheets, shocked by the chill of the stone I hadn't felt in days, and hurried (no, not so much a hurry, it simply felt that way after such a long period of stillness) to the window. It was true, I could see it: delicate, tiny snowflakes were piling up on the sill, while no more than a half mile away, I could see sun shining through the clouds. Some thing was very wrong, and it thrilled me.

How can I explain this feeling? It was like suddenly being given a new reason to continue, a new source of inspiration. I wanted to know, I wanted to go find out for myself what the imbalance was—I suddenly had a purpose to move, to breathe, to eat and dress myself in fine robes again. It wasn't a light-hearted curiosity; some part of me knew something very bad was happening, about to happen. I felt it, instinctively I knew it in the pounding of my heart as I watched the dancing snowflakes: we were on the edge of a precipice and the whole world was about to plunge over the edge. It made me grin; it gave me tremors of exhilaration.

I cannot tell you if it was a conscious knowledge, a subconscious idea, a base yet keen understanding of all I had created—but I knew, knew that as impossible as it was, Ruin had something to do with this all. The snow fell silently through the sunlight and I felt hope like I had never felt before, higher and more clear, taking my whole being into it. I watched each microscopic ice flower glisten in the passing light, glimmer in the falling shadow, staining my world white, and I prayed. Ruin is alive. Ruin _is_ alive. I did not care how, in what way, in what form. I could only blindly forge ahead with the belief that this strangeness was not coincidence, that my heart was not wrong, that the thing I knew was not crazed dream but the knowledge that souls seem to understand, the instinct of fathers and animals that connects us all.

I had to go. I could not stand the sight of my room any longer. I tossed aside my empty tea cup with abandon, ignoring your shout as it shattered. Within moments I had shed the black robe and tugged myself into a pair of pants, a loose white shirt and, suiting half the weather, an over-shirt, common white cloak falling effortlessly into place over all this.

"I'm going across the sea Garfakcy." You almost dropped the pieces of the shattered cup.

"Let me come with you!" It wasn't a shout, but I knew you wanted it to be.

"Not this time, please." It was not an order, or a plea, it was simply a sort of respect between us—I would not refuse if you insisted, but my fear that Ruin lived on and you might see whatever sort of monstrosity the broken soul could have become… I did not want you with me if Ruin was not as I had intended him to be; if even though he had survived it was only as a mangled abomination. I was afraid of my own hope, because hope itself is a weak emotion, easily broken. I was afraid I would find nothing, or would only be faced with more, with worse mistakes. I was praying he was still the child I wanted him to be and praying you would not beg me—I was afraid you two might meet and I would lose something because of it.

"Yes Master Kharl." I was never happier to hear your pouting surrender. Relieved but desperate not to show it, I left you, framed by snowy sunlight and the broken scent of lavender.

Dusis was fairing even worse than our far away home. This was no small disturbance, no small shock to the balance: something –someone– was causing an upset unlike anything I had ever seen. How can I describe to you what I saw there, where I had begun my search for the remnants of Ruin? I had gone directly to the source of the disturbance, and I what I found… It was not the path of the child I had lost but the monster I had created, the soul I had unleashed upon the world. The Faerie Forest, once surely a haven of peace and beauty, was destroyed.

Destroyed is not the right word for the sort of horror I found there—the air was red with it, blood, fine and lingering as mist. The flowers were red with it, wilting and blackened by the touch. As if the very lives of the faeries had sustained it, the forest was dying before me, rotting, poisoned by the footsteps and fangs of a mistake. My mistake, in end, and my fault and no one to blame but myself. But even as I ran my hands over blackened, torn trunks, felt the palms of my gloves become wet with the lingering, thick faerie blood, I did not feel guilty. Disgusted, unsure, afraid to go on and afraid to let things continue without interfering… This all I felt, and it pooled inside me, fighting and denying. But more than any of them was the presence of _happiness_. This destruction was something a half-broken soul would do.

Unfinished souls are unpredictable, either useless or violent. With as much power as Ruin had, I should have thought that he would never be able to settle and not affect the world. Was he trying to capture the essence of others and repair the gaps in his own heart? It was understandable, but foolish—to finish such a complex soul, he would have had to murder the mass of them. The random path of destruction was not concurrent with devouring souls… Rather, whatever monster Ruin had become seemed utterly confused, racing without purpose, killing without reason; living by the moment, unable to grasp a wider perspective of the world. Thinking of this, even in the devastation, the bane of a Great Race, I felt lighter, happier. Ruin was alive, Ruin had a form: the soul I had crafted had not shattered, was lingering. I could undo my mistakes. I could return him to the innocent I intended him to be.

Do you understand? Can you see me for who I am—constantly dreaming, hopeful, a fool. I was wiping faerie's blood off my immaculate gloves and was _happy_! I really believed things could be fixed by just finding Ruin, just drawing him back to my side. I was ignoring the sight of destruction, crushing Light flowers under my foot, breathing in the scent of decay, and I was happy—I did not feel guilty in the slightest, because I did not feel for those broken rag-doll creatures. Even looking at their corpses, I did not care. They were only signs to me that Ruin had passed here, that Ruin now had the fangs and claws of a demon, or a monster… Each expression trapped eternally in horror, each drop of blood that stained the hems of my clothing, the toes of my boots, every wilting flower, every scream, every glistening wing… meant somewhere, my child was alive.

Was it cruelty? Was it wrong of me to feel that way, to fail to see the carnage for the evil it was? Was it wrong of me to dream of life in the midst of the death of peace? I can't say that it wasn't cruel, but I can't think of it that way. When I looked into each frozen bloody face, I did not hate them, the species that was my polar opposite, my enemies. I thought I might thank them for proving my notion true, for telling me Ruin was still real. It was love, not hatred that prevented my feeling guilt—for a long while as I wandered between the bodies and the bloody flowers I could only hope. I searched for some sign, some new knowledge among the wreckage, and my mind was too far away to feel guilt over the breaking of bones and stems beneath my feet. Then something happened that pulled me back, pulled me for the first time solely into the grime, the violence and darkness that was Ruin's passing, pulled me into the death… And because of her, in my heart, I began to feel guilty.

The birds who had accompanied me were restless, and I myself became aware of the prickling natural feeling that comes from being in the presence of a soul too pure for my blood. In midst of this chaos, one of the delicate creatures was still alive! It was not hard to find her, back to the trunk of a dying tree. She was covered in blood, nearly all of it her own, but some I knew, was the life Ruin had drained from her companions. This creature was impossibly different from the bodies littering the forest floor, but I can not say in what way. She was as beautiful as any of them, blonde hair draping her shoulders and pooling down her back. In the red half light of the wood, she seemed almost to glow, betraying her own nature.

What was arresting about her was none of that—it was her eyes. They were an aqua color, like water, and wet with tears of pain and horror. They were wide, and she was staring into me as if reading the depths of my soul. Without saying a word, that faerie girl managed to cry out to me in a voice shrill and desolate. _Help me!_ She knew, I could see it, she knew I was a demon and she feared me… But I knew she feared her own swiftly approaching death far more. How intense must her wounds, her terror, have been that she would look at me in such a way? For a moment, aqua eyes stared at me as if I was a savior, an angel.

She was helpless, dying… And without knowing she was begging for help from the very man who had inadvertently caused her suffering. The irony stung me, and I under her gaze, I felt the barest hint of regret. How could she look at me in this way, knowing that I could be there to cause her only more pain? How could she look at me with so much hope in her eyes when I intended to let her die? I wanted to turn away, to continue farther into the destruction and ignore what I had seen in her glance, but I could not move. She was clutching the stump of an arm and her breath was as ragged as the torn edges of cloth, and I felt for the first time that her pain was truly my fault. It was like I had cut her down myself.

_I'm not a healer._ Maybe I said this aloud, maybe I was silent. In the bloody air silence and speaking seemed to be the same, because I know she understood me. She simply looked into me, with what I feared was trust. A faerie and a demon, and I felt her hope because I too was hoping for something. Seeing my own dreams crushed, I could not bring myself to leave her. Blood ran down her cheeks in a mockery of tears, and when I took a step toward her, I could almost imagine a smile on her lips.

"I cannot save you faerie..." This I know I said, because I heard my own voice too cold and sharp ringing in my ears. She did not seem to hear it as I did, because when I almost flinched she was still, watching me with the unwavering teary eyes. Still, I knew that I could keep her from dying. Like the little bird so long ago, I could save the body crumbling around her—at so steep a cost to her soul, was it worth it? "But I can keep you alive." I did something then that I had never done before: I put out my hand and gave that injured faerie woman a choice. The implications were there, she knew what would happen. _Take my hand, and you are selling your soul._

For a moment neither of us moved, and the only sound was the unsteady rise and fall of her breath. And then, shakily, she lifted her remaining hand, black with blood, and touched the tips of my fingers. The fear was still in her eyes, but there was determination there behind the tears. Everything youkai within me rejected the touch, an inherent threat to my very nature, but I ignored this. She grimaced, unable to even enunciate her pain beyond that tiny movement. For a moment everything about her weighed on me, and I wanted nothing more than to apologize. But I could not bring myself do that, not for a faerie, because regretting the damage meant, in some way, that I was regretting Ruin's birth.

Still, it was with a gentleness that I did not know I possessed that I gathered the broken woman to me. I felt the light of my pale youki flood the darkness of the forest, and the birds wheeled once over us. Maybe it took only a few moments, maybe it was just short of eternity—time is lost in the working of a soul. As suddenly as I had begun, it was finished, and with a shaking step, she stood on her own feet beside me. For a minute, we simply stood, observing everything dying slowly around us.

"I cannot cry." Her voice had an air of wonder, of discovery, of fear, but it had retained all the softness of a faerie's. Then she looked at me, and I resolutely looked away, because I knew if I lingered too long I would come to care for her gaze the way I came to care for yours or for Gil's. "My name is Silk." I did not answer for a long moment, and then finally gave her my name in return, out of the sense of courtesy I can never seem to forget. Silk fell silent, and I knew she could think of nothing to say to me—what was there to say? She was surely not about to thank me for what I had done.

"Tell me about the monster that did this." She started at the sound of my voice, and seemed even more horrified at the idea of remembering. I could see her trembling, and she'd wrapped her slender fingers, now restored, around her arms protectively.

"It came from the West, from Kainaldia. It was enormous, with a body made of ice. And…" She stuttered over the words, and I could feel the fear welling inside her. "With terrible fangs and claws, and eyes like… I thought nothing could have eyes like that—like it wanted to swallow the world. I was sure I going to die, because so many others…" She seemed to find this description suitable, or could not bring herself to continue.

"So he has lost his mind…" It was not for her that I said this, but she was listening attentively to my words, and I realized that if I did not leave her soon… She was the kind of faerie who must have listened devotedly to the Faerie Elder: as a demon, this subservience had not left her. I had no interest in another servant; I knew she and I would have to part. "You should leave this forest." It was as polite as I could make it, a way to send her from me without saying so. "You are not a faerie anymore, and this place will not be good for your blood." Obediently she nodded, but did not make any move to go.

In the end, I was the one to flee the forest, training my thoughts on the West, the Demon King's realm. With dreams of Ruin firm again in my mind, I turned my back to Silk, the demon, the faerie who had drawn real pity from me. I could feel her aqua eyes on my back, not blinking as the birds trailed behind me like slowly beating black wings. I did not look back, for fear I might add new regrets to this day—I left Silk, little demon, to her fate, and ignored the stains of faerie blood across my pure white clothing. I had heard recently what became of her after I left: in the wake of the destruction, she was captured by Nadil's minions to serve their ends. The news that reached me was that Silk had been given a new life by none other than Nohiro.

It did not occur to me then—in fact, it did not occur to me until a good few years later, that if the soul had survived the destruction, perhaps the body had too. I should have thought about it in the first moments after discovering the spirit lived on: if I had, perhaps I could have reunited the two before the soul was forced into another form, or stopped another soul from entering the body. You see, with so many faeries souls ripped roughly from their casings, of course there were going to be some powerful enough, with a powerful enough desire to live, to attempt to take whatever working body they could find. If Ruin's body ended up in the Faerie Forest like I assumed, than the soul that is animating it now, the soul that calls itself Nohiro, may be none other than that of the murdered Faerie Elder.

The Faerie Race requires the presence of this spirit—in order to preserve his species, I don't doubt that the Elder would have gone to great lengths. Still, Ruin's body was inherently demon, and youkai and faeries are poor mixes in all aspects. From what I have gathered about Nohiro's state, he lacks his memory, with the exception of a single instance that compels him to live his life with Faeries. He is in possession of a greater purifying power than any faerie before him. He is able to open the Water Realm, and possesses the ability that Rath also has: the ability to save the dying. Nohiro is truly an incredible power, this he undoubtedly does not understand. If my suspicions are correct, and the Faerie Elder had to sacrifice his own consciousness in order to keep his power alive, Nohiro is, in all likelihood, an amalgam of the abilities and ties I built into the body and the Faerie's purifying power.

Darkness and Light may have truly met in Nohiro, and the boy does not, can not even remember it. As it stands, he is certainly not the demon I meant him to be—an effect of having so much pure spiritual energy enclosed within him. Neither is he faerie, though the soul inside him definitely was, with only a shadow of doubt, at one time. Though I only met him once, (and did not even know it at the time!), he strikes me as a pleasant person—much too much like Rath for my comfort. Even so, there is something about Nohiro that reminds me of myself: I think it is the way he laughs, the happy little giggle that has a tendency to make others stare.

I missed the opportunity to restore Ruin –maybe the body was lying just a few feet from me as I wandered!– in favor of traveling to Kainaldia. I could have tracked the monster through Dusis, but I thought that knowing the origin of the new form was exceedingly important as well. I was not likely to lose the soul's trail, with it leaving so much destruction in its wake. So, I traveled quickly through the Faerie Forest, stopping periodically to turn many of the surviving faeries into demons. I don't know why I did this. Maybe it was my attempt to atone for the damage I had caused—but that is making me too saintly. Really, it was a little bit spite, a tiny bit of revenge. Now that she was behind me, I was angry at Silk for making me guilty, for making doubt creating Ruin. I almost hated her thinking of the hope in her eyes which had shaken my own hopes.

Those faeries I kept from dying, I did not treat them like I had treated Silk. I was not gentle, I did not offer them any choice—every pair of light eyes that met mine with fear was her, making me doubt again, adding guilt stone by stone to the scales of heart, and I was afraid looking at them that any moment Ruin might be outweighed by the bloody remnants of an enemy race. By the time I neared the shores, it had become a deliberate hunt: I stopped my straight course several times to find dying faeries far off my path. I turned each one with consternation, only feeling the slightest bit relieved as each aqua depth bled into crimson, into gold, into the other absurd colors only youkai eyes can be.

I had no idea then that this was going to go down on record books of the nation as a deliberate attempt on my part to destroy the Faerie race. I did not mean for it to be that—yet that is what it became, that is what I became. Later, I would agree with what the stories said about me. Yes, I had hated the faeries, of course I had. Yes, I had turned them for my own fun, for sport. Of course. I listened so often to the lies about me that they became my truth. I forgot the way that looking at Silk broken and bleeding had made me feel; I forgot completely the pity that had first stirred my hand. Strange how death brings this back to me, and I wonder how much would have changed if I had not allowed myself to be swayed by the lies—if I had not used others conceptions of me to hide my own heart…

The Western ocean that borders on the continent of Dusis is black and uninviting, spreading out into a misty emptiness that betrays easily the nature of the creatures who live not so far across its surface. At that time, there was nothing separating Nadil's castle from any part of Kainaldia—the Sea of the Dead had only just begun to form, and the castle had not yet been spirited into an alternate dimension. This was back when Nadil believed he had nothing to fear, before he lost Cesia to the Dragons, before I lost Rath to them. The extra protections on the Black Castle were in fact, directly in answer to the rising power in Draqueen, and I was not very surprised when Nadil's generals sealed the castle away into a new dimension, giving the power to reach it to very few. This was no deterrent for me, as alternate dimensions had always been something I could create and disperse with ease.

Still, the simplicity of getting into Nadil's castle was unsettling—there were no guards to stop me anywhere. The entire place was too dark, the air too ominous, and I knew immediately that something was off. After wandering for several minutes, the stillness setting my teeth on edge, I smelt it: the far off scent of blood. It was not fresh, but neither was it dry, and I knew if there was any solution for the deadness of the place it would be found where the blood was pooling.

I did not expect to find what I did in the slightest—the grand room stretched out before me was in pieces, the ceiling precariously perched seemed to sway in every tiny breeze. The ornate pillars were crumbling, the walls were scored by the marks of fierce battle, and a giant hole gapped in the Eastern wall, drenching the room in the harsh red sunlight of Kainaldia. Dust flickered in the rays, and every shadow seemed to stretch grossly out of shape. The entire room was black with quickly drying blood, and I was almost dazed attempting to sort through the scents.

When I was able to level my head, things became a tiny bit clearer in my mind—here was the scent of Nadil's blood, but very little, and I knew whatever wound he had sustained, it had not been fatal to him. There was also an acrid scent that my body seemed to fear completely of its own accord. This, I realized, was the Dragon Lord's blood, pure Light and extremely dangerous. So then the destruction here made more sense: they'd staged a battle… And neither of them had apparently managed to kill the other. What a waste.

Still, there were other scents in the room that made little sense. The air was heavy with demon blood that was not Nadil's or any other demon I knew. And there was something else, something decidedly strange and unpleasant—it was not demon, not completely, because I felt the same revolting feeling that the Dragon Lord's blood held for me. This strange scent was fading more quickly than anything else, and the entire affair was serving to unnerve me. Surely I would find nothing more in the bloodshed… As I turned to leave, the silence shifted, rent by a raspy breath that was more cough than anything. It was unexpected, and I turned around, searching out the source.

To my surprise, the barely breathing creature was one of the ones whose blood was all over the floor. When I crossed to look at him, I was amazed that he was still alive. 'Amazed' probably does not cover my wonder—because this young demon was utterly ripped to pieces, bleeding profusely and yet, he still managed to be alert. He turned his head to look at me, and I saw blood pouring down his face that did not look as if it had been caused by what had done the other damage. His form was in shreds, and there were places where I could see through his body to the bloody floor underneath. By all means, he should have been dead.

He seemed to understand this too, because he laughed –a coarse, bloody sound– at my stare.

"This is part of my power." He said, except I don't think that he did. I simply can't remember exactly what he muttered to me, because much of it was coughing, but I gathered from it that he was not dead because of his own strange demon abilities were keeping him alive. The very idea intrigued me. I knew that demons were inherently unique creatures, and many had powers that no others shared… But I had never heard of a power that allowed one to be so invincible to death. Why was such a creature, (with such an ability!), bleeding away in this broken castle? When I asked, I received an answer to more than one of my questions.

"To protect someone," this the demon said unabashedly, as if sacrificing oneself was an everyday activity. His attitude to nearly giving his life away bothered me: what sort of demon was this that cared so much for another? His powers were almost ironic, as if he'd been made to be self-sacrificing. "From a monster."

"What was it?" It seemed inappropriate for me to be so curious, but I could not help myself. Looking him over, I noticed what I had not before: his right arm was missing, but it did not bare the jagged tears that every other wound on him seemed to have. It was a clean cut, as if he, or someone else had hacked it off.

"Illuser." The name meant nothing to me, and he could see that. "The Dragon Dog." This stirred some memory, and I remembered reading about the strange hybrid creatures kept as pets by the Dragon Lord. Ice and snow demons, infused with the power of Dragons. I remembered being surprised then, and now it shocked me more than anything else. Had I been wrong all along? Had Ruin's soul not survived, and the path of destruction I had followed… Had it simply been caused by a demon dog gone mad?

"Tell me what has happened." I tried hard to keep the desperation from my voice, but it still sounded, as just the barest of wavers.

"Lord Nadil took the Dogs prisoner when he finally betrayed the Dragons. The Dragon Lord attacked, and I don't know what happened, but the Ice dog had Lykouleon's blood inside it. My friend, idiot, wanted to get the Dragon's blood. I followed him here, and Illuser's body was lying there, but…" I understood only half of what he was telling me, and I realized much of the information was subjective, or limited to what he himself, a low-class minion, knew of the situation. "But, there was this sound… And Illuser was alive again. It ripped off his arm." He coughed, as if the memory caused as much pain as his injuries. "It was going to eat him."

He stopped, as if that was all there was to tell. It was all I needed, I suppose, to figure out what had happened—Ruin's soul was alive, and was inhabiting the shell of the ice demon, Illuser. The two demon bloods I had not recognized were of the bleeding youth beside me and his companion, who was nowhere near. Undoubtedly, he had fled, believing his friend destroyed. This news unsettled me, for I was now facing not just any demon, but a Dragon. And what would that tribe say upon discovering their precious pet alive and raging? It was a coincidence that would entangle the lives of Rath and I for years to come.

I don't remember if I thanked the boy, but I might have. I was ready to begin my hunt for the remnants of Ruin, but a side thought distracted me for the barest of moments. Looking at the demon bleeding on the floor, dying but not, I thought I shouldn't let such a scientific mystery slip past me—yet what time did I have to study him? He coughed, a little blood pooling on his lips. I remember looking down and thinking he would never survive. Power or not, a body needs blood to function, and the boy was losing it faster than his body would ever be able to heal.

I wonder if I surprised him when I summoned my youki again and left Kainaldia behind, a few white feathers from the magic the only trace of my presence there. The path through the Faerie Forest had been toward the North, and this did not surprise me. Even shattered and out of control, the demon in Ruin would have known the dangers of Draqueen. It was no difficult matter to follow where the possessed Dragon Dog had been—the rents in the very stones of mountains and buildings were enough to tell me clearly where he was traveling.

His path was winding, but far more pointed than I would have suspected, turning East to skirt the beginning of the Misty Valley, and the plunging recklessly South into the city of Chantel. The streets of the city were in ruin, and every human in the place was still nervous, many choosing to remain in hiding, staring pointedly and frightened when I walked, determined, through the roads. The Fortuneteller's street, famous through-out the country, was the worst of all, and it seemed as if Ruin had skipped killing many of the humans in favor of the creatures with higher spiritual power. Buildings and tents were overturned, half eaten bodies and tattered tarot cards littered the bloody cobblestones, some half-heartedly stacked to be buried, many simply ignored. The sight of the massacre turned even my stomach, and I had to hurry on.

Then I was once again traveling through the wilderness, relying on every broken trunk and scar in the fields to point my way. There was a brief stint through Fiori Forest, and once again, I felt the stirrings of guilt that a pure-hearted soul can bring on, and changed many more faeries into demons. The weather grew even more erratic, but I took no heed it of, even when it began to hail in large, uncomfortably hard chunks. I reached the Eastern shore of Dusis just as the sun was rising, cold and red, dancing between the growing and disappearing clouds.

Here, I was unsure of how to proceed, for two islands lay close at hand, and neither shore revealed immediately which path Ruin had taken. Finally, I had to rely on scent, forcing back the heavy smell of salt in the air and trying to find the traces of blood that would be on his paws, the chill of the ice that made up his new form. It was the larger of the two nearest islands he had gone through, I discovered, and at the heart of the isle, Ruin had used the ice demon's claws and fangs to destroy another large city, seat of the Zurebiggya bureaucracy. There more still more bodies here, and the senseless violence confused and frustrated me. What was he gaining from this? Was he really reaping the souls or was he simply killing because he did not know how to do anything else? What had Ruin become—what had he failed to become because I had failed in creating him?

The air was growing decidedly colder the farther I traveled, and I was glad for my thick cloak despite how dirty it had become. Snow gathered in the shade, oak trees dwarfed me as I passed beneath them. Lazily the birds flapped far overhead, lacking the thermals they needed to soar. Deftly, silently, I crossed the sea to Hyuray. The massive island was barren, uninhabited and rocky. Why had Ruin come here? I could not help but think this had not been his destination—had he been chased here? Suddenly, I worried, worried that maybe I'd underestimated the Dragon Kingdom's intelligence, or the interest Nadil might take in such a powerful demon.

The sun rose on my right slowly and omnipotently, unable to feel my distress or offer me any solace. The dusty expanse spread out before me, and I felt, more than anything, a loneliness that seemed to come more from the land itself than from me. Nevertheless, as I trudged through the rocky terrain, kicking up tiny clouds in my wake, I felt utterly alone, left with nothing but my unuttered prayers, again and again, that over the next hill I would find him, would spot something that told me I was getting nearer to finding him… When I did finally have my prayers answered, it was in the worst possible way. I was truly being mocked by God.

The battlefield laid out before me was awash with blood, and a single draft of the breeze told me instantly that it was Dragons'. He had been pursued. Worse, the destruction ended here, in a wide swath of rent earth and overturned stones. He had not escaped. I don't know how to explain my feelings at that moment—terrified, sick, as if all I had to hope for was lost, all the warmth I had ever dreamed of having was stripped away… I fell to my knees, hands fisting in the rough grain beneath me. It simply wasn't fair! I may have screamed my rage and desolation that day to the heartless sun over me… But maybe I only dreamed I did that, and maybe even howling was beyond me.

I know that I stood after a long while, dirty and cold, and the wind which had picked up made me no more comfortable. I had to clear my mind, to think logically about this. There was no body here, which meant one of two things: Ruin was not dead, only captured, or they had destroyed the body utterly and Ruin was lost to me forever. The first option was far more appealing, and it was this that I chose to believe. Ruin had not been killed, I repeated to myself endlessly, looking at the blood spread out on the ground before me. I could still save my child, I knew it.

But, looking across the jagged landscape, lit by snow and sunlight, I could not find the power within me. If Ruin really was a prisoner of theirs, how was I to stage an assault? Even I knew that the Dragon Lord's Light was protecting the palace. I wouldn't be able to set a foot inside. And what if I managed to enter only to find Ruin dead? What if he was already gone? What would they want with him—what had they done, what did they intend to do? I was afraid for Ruin and weary of my own mistakes. If I come even one day earlier… Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be curled in my own bed, ignoring the weather and the world. For a moment, it seemed simply too much that I was so far away from home and so alone.

_What should I do?_ I remembering begging for an answer, and receiving none.

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Author's Notes: So, have I totally blown your mind with ridiculous never-shown-in-the-manga impossibilities yet? There's more to come. The Dragon Knights timeline is very screwed up, but right now we're in the flashbacks from book 2 and before the Snowy Mountains incident. I suppose, linearly, we won't be in book 1 and the events that follow that for at least another chapter. Next chapter is the Snowy Mountain scene, probably one of my most favoritous scenes ever, EVER. La la la, exciting. Hopefully, you'll still be reading at that time—this chapter didn't like kill it for you, did it?

Review Responses:  
**Leearye:** I've already replied to your review with like a huge essay, so I'll be very brief here: thank you very much for reviewing, and I hope this chapter was not disappointing?  
**RandomRathFan:** Yes, Nohiro. I tried to clear up in this chapter why I believe he has spiritual powers stronger than the Faerie Elder. We know that he has some intense connection to Rath, I just went and ran with the idea that Nohiro is the body that Rath was lacking. I haven't read farther than book twenty two, as Imoved out of my old house and now no longer have access to a Japanese bookstore, butI have had the plot of 23 and 24 told to me. The Elvish names were actually pointed out by another FF writer, Aquajogger, and confirmed by the Author's page in the back of 22 which stated that "Roobal" was taken from Lord of the Rings. I hope this chapter answered some of the question about what happened to Ruin… And is Kharl going to be okay? No. Hey, lookie, I surpassed my chart by half a month!  
**xxDKGurlxx:** Whee, new reviewer! (Dance!) I'm really glad that you like the story, and I hope this was a soon enough update for you. (It's my fastest Cloaks update ever!) Anyway, thanks very much for the review, I hope you liked this chapter.  
**Yami-chan and Unrealistic:** Loyal reviewers make me so happy and tingly inside. I'm glad you liked the last chapter, and I hope you enjoyed this one, as depressing and weird as it was.

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	15. Black Education

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Author's Notes: Okay, okay. Admittedly, I thought this was going to be up so much sooner, but then I got super busy and yeah… Anyway, it's still up before the deadline, so I'm proud of myself. This chapter is so long. It's more than 15,000 words (25 pages). It is the chapter I knew I was going to have to write all along, the infamous Snowy Mountains chapter, and I really worry that I don't do it justice. Wah, don't read volume 12 and this at the same time… Or maybe you should? I don't know. I'm sorry if this sucks. And has some really crazy parts in there. I'm really sick right now, ouchie. Please review and tell me what you think?

Disclaimer: I'll be serious this time. I don't own any of the characters, events, plot, or even much of the dialogue in this chapter. It is all the glorious work of one Mineko Ohkami, and I'm not writing for any profit other than fun.

Background Music: Dark Chest of Wonders (Nightwish)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 15-_  
Black Education

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When I stumbled thoughtlessly up the castle walk, it was with the strange feeling that comes to me all too often, the feeling that is both pleasant and saddening, relieving and maddening. It seems terrible to me that hearts are capable of experiencing such extreme opposites at the same time; it seems very cruel. Looking up at the snow-covered castle where warmth and a concerned interrogation surely waited for me, I could not help but feel comforted, could not help but think about how wonderful a fire might be at this moment, how easily enjoying the warmth and the silence might clean my mind of the grief and horrible thoughts—yet at the same time, this relief was tainted by my memories, which echoed constantly. Mocking me with all that I had seen, my mind seemed intent on showing me endlessly that barren battlefield, on showing me that crumbling castle, on showing me the purposeless destruction of the Faerie Forest. I knew, even in the most pleasant of moments, I would never be able to forget—and looking over my shoulder toward Dusis, where the Dragon Clan had my son prisoner, I knew I would never be able to forgive. 

When I finally brought myself to push open the castle doors, it was exactly as I had expected. You were waiting for me there, in one of the comfortable high-backed chairs. The sunlight was filtering through the windows above you, illuminating the dust raining in the room. For a moment, you seemed not even to notice my presence, because you continued to stare across the hall, lost in your thoughts, glazed emerald eyes doing nothing but taking in the patterns on the marble walls. Then finally you turned to look at me at last, and a kind and benevolent smile swept across your lips. In the one moment of quiet you and the golden shards of light seemed to welcome me, welcome me wholly without any regard for what had happened, for what mistakes I had made and failures I had forged. I was home.

I wanted, at that moment to fall down before you and weep. In my head for that one breath you were the older of the two of us, and I was the child, weak-minded, dependent and lost. I wanted nothing more than to sit in the tepid dusty sunlight and hear you –hear anyone– tell me everything would be fine. I was missing what I had never had, what Ruin might now ever have, and what I really wanted for that second was a father to gather me in his arms and assure me that my world was not ending, that hearts can heal, that what is lost might yet be found... There was no one as there always had been no one.

As much as I wanted to beg you to comfort me, I did not do it. I was too aware of myself for this, too strong for my own good. Instead I let you call to me in that loud and familiar way, let you berate me for being gone so long, let you scold me like a disobedient child for having gotten my clothing positively filthy. It was not what I wanted, but it was something, a little bit of familiarity and fuss that made the bad things seem, for the moment, just a bit farther away. You could not banish all my fear, but it was kind of you, unknowingly, to try. I sat myself wearily in one of the comfortable chairs, running my hand without intention over the emerald crush velvet and finely polished mahogany. I wondered briefly if you were responsible for its impossibly deep shine.

"Come and sit beside me." I offered and ordered. Confused, you scrambled to obey, plopping unceremoniously onto the finely carved ottoman. With a few quiet words I brought a fire blazing to life in the grand fireplace, liking the way the normally cold room began to heat up quickly. For a few minutes the warm silence enveloped me, soothing the open wounds I felt my very soul must be marred with. And then, to my own immense surprise, I was the first to speak. "I've made a terrible mistake Garfakcy… I am afraid I will never be able to undo it."

"Wha—" You began hastily, but I silenced you with a dismissive hand. Maybe I believed that if I was interrupted, I would never start again. Indeed, I did not know what had compelled me to begin. I think now that it was some intrinsic knowledge, some subconscious sense of self-preservation: because I know if I had said nothing, if I held every single hateful, fearful, damning word inside me, I would have fallen so far into self-pity that I would surely have ceased to function. I needed you –as I have always needed you– to take the burden for me, to save me from myself. As if it was your very purpose, you listened to me silently, emerald eyes wide and sure. Humans, I will always marvel at them. What you lack in physical power, the strength of your heart makes up for ten times over. Every poisonous word, the very words I could not stand, you took into yourself without flinching. Of course, I did not tell you everything—I could not bring myself to admit anything close to the truth…

"I've made a terrible mistake," I repeated, as if this could sooth away all the trouble behind the words, "With a spell. And now everything has gone quite wrong." You made an unsettled noise as if to break in again, but quieted yourself. "I've lost something more precious to me than I could ever explain." My throat tightened, I could not even force another word across my lips.

"You should get it back." You could not hold yourself in any longer, seeing me so, and your words stung me in their irony. Get it back? My chances of succeeding against the pure light barrier of the Dragon Castle were less than none—I could not even begin to think about how long it would take me to obtain the Dragon Lord's blood. I didn't know them or understand them then; I thought the Dragons to be nothing but haters of youkai, a force of "good" against my "evil"… But if I had not been so prejudiced, could I not have simply asked for entrance to the castle? I did not know that they are the type of loving fools who would have admitted me! If I had gone in the very first day and politely demanded they return my son to me, might I not have prevented so many horrible things?

How could I have known? I was afraid of them, though I would never have told this to anyone. My demon mind and soul could never have comprehended pleasant conversation with the enemy.

"But if I try to retrieve it and I fail, I may be killed." The look on your face shocked me—I expected confusion, at the most sadness, but you sent me the sharpest glare I'd ever received.

"No one can kill you." You hissed, young voice brimming with rage at the notion and faith in the words. The utter acceptance of this, as if it was a law, a Gospel truth, stunned me. You honestly believed (no, desperately wanted to believe) that I would never die. How badly I wanted to believe it too, how hard I pretended it was true! Now I'm disappointing us both.

"I won't give it up to them, I can't." As strong as your conviction, I determined the Dragon Tribe would not hold my child prisoner. If it took all my power, I would bring him home.

"I'll help!" You promised, and the childish sounding vow sent a tiny stab of guilt through me. Would you have volunteered so readily knowing what my "precious loss" was? Would you have risked your life to return another child to my side? At that time, I thought you would have been too jealous, too afraid of losing your place to ever protect Rath, Ruin. I was wrong.

I said the only thing I could. "Thank you." It was for more than your offer of aid.

The silence waxed again, broken by the snapping of the logs in the fireplace, and after a long minute you stood, pointing out the laundry was still not finished, and would I please change out of my dirty robes? "Not now." I murmured in answer. The chair was simply too welcoming; I could not bear the thought of moving. You must have understood—on a normal day you would never have let me lie in sullied clothing. Long after you left me, I laid still, my head far back against the gently angled top of the chair, my bloody gloves buried in the velvet. I do not know when I fell asleep, but it must have been quickly, because I remember little but the sound of the crumbling logs.

The morning light woke me, and I shifted wearily in the chair. My back and neck were stiff, complaining about the long hours in a strange position, but that was not what I noticed first—some time during the cold night you had come and thrown a blanket over my prone form. Watching my breath mist in the room that had grown as cold as the snow piled on the sill, I was quite grateful for your consideration. Pulling the thick ivory wool after myself, I wandered to the window. It was strange and disconcerting to see my normally green forest decked in such absolute white, and I wondered if you'd even be able to spot me and my pale clothing if I wandered outside now.

Would nature stabilize after what Ruin and I had done? I was not sure, and I caught myself hoping it would and would not. Already the wavering shadow and broken sunlight was irritating me, however I could not help but love the way the icy flakes glistened, utterly pristine across the wide front walk. Once upon a time, I loved the snow—despite the destruction that it told, somehow its quiet glittering fall reminded me of innocence, all things bright and pure. But that was many years ago, and now when I look at snowflakes, all I can see is blood.

"Good morning Master Kharl." You bustled through the front door, shaking your boots free of the powder. Your arms were full of strawberries, and I knew we were going to have my favorite kind of pancakes for breakfast. That you were only now preparing to cook told me it was still very early. I offered to help you and was rejected thoroughly; however this did not surprise me. I'd offered just to be polite—the kitchen, we've both agreed, was a place I should simply avoid.

The delicious smells of the browning batter pulled me from the window where I had gone back to staring. When the warm strawberry smell came wafting to me as well, I could resist no longer, and left the main hall for a place at the dining table. We ate the flawless breakfast over typical pleasant chatter, and I was more that grateful for how astute you really were—you have always known just what to say and when to keep silent with me. You knew not to ask whose blood was on the cloak I still had not removed, not to ask what I had lost, who supposedly possessed the ability to kill me… You talked about how the cold was making the irises bloom twice as large as last year, but was freezing the pansies' roots and destroying them. I listened with a rapt ear and nodded, though I could not even tell you which of the multitude of flowers in the garden were irises and which were pansies.

After we had eaten, I dressed myself in fresher robes, a dark sapphire blue that clashed miserably with my hair as much as every other color does. I carefully pinned the thick cloak together with the heavy silver cross clasp, wondering only briefly where I'd gotten the pin and its accompanying braided tassels. Somewhere downstairs, you clattered about, washing something or other with that fervor for cleanliness that has never left you. I watched the snow fall for a few moments, beckoning me silently, and then I knew –no, it was not like knowing, but like being told– that I needed to go outside. I wanted to feel the chill of the air and remind myself that in striving to bring warmth into my own life, I had brought a reign of cold over the whole world. If you heard my call, you did not answer, and I crossed the castle steps feeling faintly ignored.

The frozen air hit me like a wave as I stepped free of the lingering heat of the main hall, and the gentle dancing snowflakes hardly stood out against my pales palms as I reached to catch them. Far away, a watery ray of sunlight split the clouds, shimmering and hazy as snowflakes drifted across it. There was a stillness all around me, a stillness that was unsettling and peaceful simultaneously, and I felt, even though this weather was a symbol of horrible destruction, there was still a purity in it, still a happiness that bubbled inside me, unsure and weak from disuse. Looking across the fields of drifts, it felt as if I had not been happy for years. It felt like years ago that I held Ruin in my arms.

The forest floor was slick and wet with snow that had fallen through the branches and remained frozen in the trees' shadows. The wide, uneven path was treacherous with mud and ice, and I picked my way carefully through the uneven ground. For a long time I simply wandered, through the trees, along the snowy sands of the shore, over fields buried so deeply in the drifts not a blade of grass could be seen. I spiraled outward from the castle, aimlessly, only skirting the humans' village in hopes of avoiding confrontation. I failed miserably at this—but it was not a demon I met in my wandering.

I should not say I _met_ her, but that she met me. As I stepped stately through the snowy shadows of the oak boughs, I felt a presence, immensely powerful, pure, and approaching. It was enough to make the hair on the back of my neck stand further up, and I was immediately jarred. But, I settled and forced myself to continue walking as if I felt no power stalking closer and closer behind. There was no malice in the aura, far from it—there was an imploring, delicate nature to the spirit that made some of my unease flee quickly. Who was this foreign power, intruding so boldly and innocently on my territory? I hoped that whoever it was would overtake me soon, for curiosity was pouring into me relentlessly.

When at last my wish my granted, I was left speechless. She came alongside effortlessly, each pointed step matching my own in width and speed. Her long decorated cloak made no sound as it dragged across the ground, and unlike the dirty hem of my own clothing, the mud and mire seemed never to touch her. For a long time, we simply walked together, snowflakes catching in the folds of both of our clothing. Her impossibly rose-colored hair fell in tender waves far down her back, catching the half-light as it reflected of the snow. She was small, too much so, and I caught myself thinking that such a fragile creature should not be outside in air so cold.

At last, as I stepped closer to her to escape a smear of mud, she caught my sleeve. Her roseate eyes –such a strange color– met mine just as her slight hand fisted in my sleeve.

"Lord Alchemist," her voice was as soft and tremulous as I expected, "You must listen to me." For a moment I could nothing but stare at her, gauging the power I could feel roiling in her spirit. Such immense strength did not seem to match her weak frame, and I knew it was not physical in nature. Who was she, what did she want? I worried for a moment that she might be an enemy, this might be only some deceit, but looking at her concerned gaze, I did not think her capable of harming anyone. She seemed, beyond anything else, utterly too perfect. I knew even then she was not of this world, but every thing about her, from the feather light pressure of her fingers to her finely creased brow, reassured me of a kindness around her I could almost tangibly feel.

I halted my steady pace, turned to look her fully in the pale face. A part of me, the slightest part, was angered (frightened) by the fact that this wisp of a woman knew not only where to find me, but my title, my abilities… More than this however, I was only curious, intrigued immediately that a creature I had never met in my long life had an important message for me. I could see her breath in the chill air, fine as mist. There was such a desperation and concern in her eyes that I was almost stunned. Who was this delicate girl whose gaze begged me, forced me, not to turn away?

"Tell me." It was not a demand, simply an acknowledgement, and my own voice was lighter than I'd intended, more open and beguiling than I had expected to sound. She breathed deeper, nearly a sigh, and I could see relief wash across her finely made features. Had she believed I would ignore her? The fingers buried deeply in the fabric at my arm released slightly, falling to rest more comfortably at my elbow. She did not let me go—it seemed she was afraid I'd slip away from her at any moment. I watched her, uncertainty and wariness fading quickly as the seconds passed and her altruistic aura soothed even the air between us. Then she took a step again, starting over our interrupted walk, and I walked rigidly in her grasp.

To an outside observer, would we have looked like two companions, enjoying an untimely winter? I wondered, had I never left the castle that morning, if she would have come right up to my doorstep. As gentle as she seemed, I did not feel any fear in her at all, none of the reluctance one should feel when facing demons. For someone so fragile, the boldness that allowed her to approach me, a murderer, seemed very dangerous. I almost told her so, almost warned her against simply walking up on youkai—but the absurdity of that held my tongue.

"In this world, I am known as the Heaven's Star Princess." The way she carried herself seemed to me suddenly very elegant, not a step out of place, and I puzzled over why I had not thought her royalty before. "I am going to tell you all I have seen, and I beg you to believe me. The fate of this world is in danger. Lord Ruin is in danger." If she was trying to catch my full attention, she had exactly the right words. I flinched, and the concern lit again in her gaze as if she too could feel the sore wounds that simple name could open.

"How do you—" I tried to begin, but she shook her head to silence me. Stray pink locks slid down her shoulder, stopping where her arm met mine, and I was careful not to catch them between us and hurt her.

"Please let me tell you everything I can," she began, "There is so much to tell." I nodded, and the delicate woman began to lay out for me the story of a future I had never dreamed would come to pass. "Ruin has been taken into the Dragon Tribe. He was cornered in Hyuray by the officers and the Lord. They came to make restitution for the lives of the Dragon Fighters that had been taken. But Lord Lykouleon could not bring himself destroy the demon wearing the form of his beloved hound—it would be like you striking down one of your own birds." The thought alone was unpleasant, and for a brief moment, I shuddered to imagine facing one of my faithful companions as an enemy. Her knowledge of me was unsettling, but I felt, more than knew, she was in possession of a wisdom I was not privy to. She was, and most assuredly always will be, the most powerful fortuneteller our world has ever known.

"What have they done?" I questioned, thinking up every violent manner that beasts may be subdued, and worried that even more damage had been done to the remnants of my innocent son.

"The Lord has given his Light and his flesh to bring Lord Ruin under control. He has been given a Dragon's body—a Dragon Lord's Light." Whatever cruel abuse I had imagined, the truth was a thousand times more horrible. Dragon's blood? A Dragon's form? Of all the things that could have happened… It was like losing the soul all over again. Stolen! I felt as if he had been brutally ripped from me, placed just out of my reach. How could my precious demon have been so polluted?

Hatred, swift and intense, coursed through me—how dare they? I would level their castle and raze their kingdom to the dust! I wanted justice, revenge, anything! The beautiful princess frowned softly, a look that did not suit her. At my side, her delicate fingers tightened. If it was to reassure me, I was not comforted, only unsettled again at how well she read the depth of the emotions my face could not possibly show.

"There was no other way," her eyes shone with rending sadness, "To end the destruction." I knew she was right, that what had been done may have saved hundreds of lives, including Ruin's own. There was no other way for them—but that did not make me any less murderous, any more forgiving. "They will keep him safe," she murmured, looking at me with such believing eyes, "He has become their infant prince." Hadn't he? Taking in royal blood, the soul I had drained my heart creating had become the brother –the son! – of a man whose sword was black with the blood of our kin!

It seemed like divine cruelty—it seemed as if God had turned his back on me entirely. The irony twisted in my stomach, and I had to bit my lip to keep in a moan of abject despair. In my sleeve her fingers tightened again, the only thing she could do to try and ease my pain.

"He is going to become an incredible warrior. His enemies will tremble at his name." She was working so hard to lighten the unbearable news for me, but failed worse with every word.

"Demons will tremble at his name." It was spiteful, and I wished I had not said it. "I did not make Ruin to be a force of destruction! I did not mean for him to ever be…"

"I know," she whispered, voice full of consolation and a warmth that made me think of mothers, though I had never personally known one. "I know." And she _did_—it was as if this delicate woman knew not only the ever-changing future but the murkier depths of my own heart. "Lord Ruin will wield powers unlike any before. He will have the strength to bathe the world in Light or—"

"Plunge it into Darkness." I remembered the helplessness in Silk's eyes, and bloody mist clinging to her golden hair.

"I have seen the future of this world and it is unsure. There is still too much that may change. If even o-one event…" It was becoming harder for her to speak, and I could see crystalline tears welling up in her eyes. It occurred to me that knowing every imminent death and failure of an entire world must be a terrible burden. She seemed too kind to shoulder it.

"Lord Alchemist," she stopped suddenly, and her grip congealed to a pressure I had not imagined her capable of. A single pearly teardrop spilled off her cheek. "I have seen your soul, and I know you are not a cruel man! I have seen that you truly love Ruin—and that is why you must not try and take him from the Dragon Tribe!" Another teardrop hit the snowy earth and shattered, just as my mind seemed to cease its functions. Leave him among enemies? Allow him to become something he was never meant to be? Watch them force him onto a throne he was never meant to have? I could not imagine it, could not imagine letting my son live his life as the child of a Dragon Lord. Without even thinking about the motion, my hands moved to wipe the lingering tears from her cheeks.

"You cannot expect me to honor that request." It was a little unkind of me, but I my heart was not in rebuking her. I could feel the purity of her convictions—but to ask such a thing of me… She opened her mouth as if to say something but could not find the words. "Could you simply watch and do nothing, in my place?" I wiped another tear with the embroidered cuff of my cloak and her grip on my sleeve lightened to nothing. The frowns on our faces looked, to me, identical. "Thank you Hime-sama(1)," it was too brief, too sharp of me, "But I cannot forsake him. Ruin is worth more to me any uncertain future of this world." I stepped away from her, a physical gesture to match the distance her request had pushed between us.

"I beg of you…" She began, failed. "I only want… I only want to spare you both the suffering!"

"For me, you are already too late." I felt merciless saying it. She was trembling, and the impossible power within her seemed only a rouse for a creature too delicate for this world. I could stand it no longer, her silent tears, her desperate, angelic gaze—frustrated and more hopeless than when we had begun, I left her. I simply left her there in the snow! I pretended not hear her call, her sobbing for what Ruin and I had become. I hardened my heart to the feeling of her roseate eyes on my back, begging me with every step I took. How could I have known the seriousness of the advice she was urgently trying to give me?

If I had honored her request, would the world be any different? I cannot believe it—it seems to me that, like so much else in my life, there was simply no other way. If I had not gone to the mountains, would I truly have spared Ruin any pain? The lies would have come crashing down around him one day, all the more agonizing for their dormancy. And if I had not gone there, inadvertently, there would be no Wind Staff—no way at all to save my child from himself… Yet with this thought, I am jumping ahead in my own story.

It was six and half years before I saw the Heaven's Star Princess again. As if she was a herald of more than just the future, the years after our first meeting were the most testing of my life. I can't even begin to think about them again, for fear that frustration might cause my heart to beat faster and end my life all the more swiftly. Those years I spent desperately watching, listening, spying… I can at least think about the many times I bribed members of Nadil's army for information about the Dragon my child was shaping up to be. Can you imagine the stories I was told? By the tender age of seven years and three months, my son had become an enemy to youkai, more feared than any of the infamous Dragon Fighters. He was the Dusis' King's "secret weapon", a tiny but flawless warrior with not only a Dragon at his side, but also the remaining Dragon Dog "Crewger". Did the snow guardian protect Ruin because he could feel his ice brother inside that false Dragon form?

Every time I heard his story from another demon's mouth, he was blown more and more out of proportion. By the time he had officially been instated as the Dragon Knight of Fire (which chagrined me to no end—as now it was not only his job to protect Dusis, but to actively attack demons) many of the youkai who had never been part of an attack against Draqueen believed him to be a monstrously large creature, capable of hacking demons to bits without even drawing his sword. I even was told once by a raving young youkai that the new Knight could breathe fire! The hysteria that innocent little Ruin seemed to bring simply by existing was almost entertaining to me, and if he had been by my side, and not by that stuffy Lord Lykouleon's, I'm sure I would have positively enjoyed the panic his power produced, the rumor that had gotten so out of hand.

Once, five years or so after I'd lost Ruin, I met a Dragon in a bar. It was an accident, but not much of one, for I had been searching for one of their kind for months. As active as the Fighters were, I never seemed able to get any of them alone to talk with, and half the time I found them so busy there was never a moment to try. Yet this man, an albino by appearance, was sitting all by himself in a tiny tavern in Chantel. He was surprised to find Avis Rara buying him a drink, and more surprised still to find I had spotted him for the Dragon he was.

"It's the ears," I told him. "Youkai, Faeries, and Dragons all have those same pointed ears. Since I don't think youkai often come mull over drinks here, and presumably Faeries don't drink, I assumed you were the only option left." This wasn't how I'd known, but it was a good enough excuse for the slightly intoxicated man. "What's your name?"

"'t's Kai-stern." He was slurring his words just the barest amount, but I did not think he was as drunk as he was pretending to be. At least he had the sense to be suspicious of anyone who knew youkai well enough to know they had pointed ears. I did not offer my name in return, but pushed his glass genially closer as I took a seat beside him. "You are not going to sta-start in with some sob story are you?" He gave me a half-hearted glare out of the corner of his impossibly pale eye.

"No, I don't think so. Actually," I grinned and he took a long draught of his glass, "I was hoping you might tell me some things." The sounds of the other bar-goers holding lilting conversations amongst each other was almost a calming background hum, and for a moment, I found the dim light and the dark wooden walls attractive. He sighed into the white hand holding his chin aloft. "I've heard that you've inducted a new Fire Knight. Is he is helpful to you Dragons?" I wondered if he heard the twinge of sarcasm buried deeply in my words, but I think he didn't—the Lefuryhelio he was downing like a dying man must have been severely affecting his system.

"He's-" he hiccupped softly, "He's so muchtrouble! Chasin' him all over. And the kid doesn't follow anybodyelseas much as me. 'eegi scares him, 'uwalk's always too busy and I think, jus' my opinion," he whispered conspiratorially to me, "I think 'uwalk's a littlekinda afraid of him." The names meant nothing to me, but the fact that Ruin and this man personally knew each other was encouraging, and I knew exactly what he was saying when he hinted that one of the mysterious men he'd mentioned was afraid of Ruin. Surely he'd seen the destruction my tiny child could make. "'uwalk's the one that took theblowback when… back…" He frowned deeply, narrowing light eyes for a moment. "I don't think I'msupposed to talk abou' that."

"Probably not," I ordered him another glass.

"But ya'know, he's a good kid." His frown was replaced by a warm and wobbly grin that betrayed exactly how many drinks he'd already had. Turning to toast me (I had no glass to return the gesture) he continued, "Weird obsisson-obsusseen-obsession! with hunting demons. Waves his sword around-" he hiccupped again, "-like he was bornwithit in his hand." He practically was. "Still, he's a real… a real good kid. Lord Lykou-leon-" he stumbled on the long name, "-loves him a lot, Icantell. An' the Queen adores him." He smiled, a happy genuine smile that surprised me. He seemed actually to like Ruin. They loved him? I couldn't imagine it, and it spoiled my appetite to hear more from the strange man. "Oi," he mumbled, looking at me with a sudden seriousness, "Why'd you want to know?" The suspicious edge was back in his eyes, and I felt now was the time for me to leave, before he could cause a stir. "And," he looked at my hands crossed over my empty part of the bar, "You didn't get anything to drink…"

"Liquor doesn't sit well with me." I smiled, that infamous enigmatic smile that has caused so many to believe I delight in playing games with people. With agrip I forced to remain loose and friendly, I clasped my hand on his shoulder. He never expected the ash that came with it, and I watched, pleased, as he collapsed onto the bar, utterly unconscious. Undoubtedly, he would wake the next day with a ringing headache and no recollection of anything but getting drunk.

I left the bar, feeling tired and uncomfortable. I could not believe that the Dragon Tribe would openly welcome a demon into their midst, especially the demon that had ripped their kingdom to shreds. It did not make sense! I refused to believe it. He was drunk, he was crazy, he was lying. They did not love him. They did not love him, deserve him, like I did! For a moment, I wondered why I had not simply killed the albino there in the bar. It might have spared me a bit of a trouble. But I did not know then that he and I were going to meet again, so soon. That night, it was simply too much work to kill someone and get away unnoticed. And, as much as I wanted to send their entire castle crumbling to dust, killing this one man (I thought) would not have changed anything—I would be no closer to retrieving Ruin. He was lucky, lucky he'd spoken of my child so kindly, lucky I was in such a benevolent mood.

The next time we met, I count as the worst memory of my life. Even simply remembering it sets my teeth on edge, and the pain it brings my heart can drown out all the pain of my dying. It happened in the Snowy Mountains, and it was the greatest mistake I have ever made. Greater than losing the soul—what I did there damaged not only Ruin, but any future that could have been.

I waited seven years and three months, and then I could not wait any longer. Why I had even held myself back so long, I do not know. I assured myself that I had simply never had the opportunity before, but that was a lie. Two years before, when I'd met that man, Kai-stern, in the bar, he had told me exactly how I could bring Ruin back. The boy loved killing demons—I could easily draw him out of the castle with a few well-placed rumors. I had learned how quickly they could spread. Yet, I did not act. Secretly, I would never have admitted to myself, it was because of the Star Princess. As much as I had hated her request, the selfless and desperate way she begged me was moving. Maybe, some part of me was afraid to betray her kindness. Then again, maybe I was only afraid of being harmed, of losing Ruin once more.

It was delightfully easy work to filter the rumors of a demon on the mountain into the Dragon Castle. Avis Rara told a pair of Fighters, with a terrified, trembling voice, and then sat back and watched it rage like wildfire through the ranks. Of course, they tried to keep it a secret from Ruin—but in trying, ended up revealing it to him sooner than if they had not tried to hide it at all. It wasn't long before he was looking for every opportunity he could to escape the watchful eyes of the castle staff. And it was not long after he began to search for an escaperoute that a way presented itself—and he slipped within my reach for first time since his birth.

When that day began, bright but nowhere near warm, I felt the weather could not be any more perfect for the reunion I had so desperately waited for. It was cold, clear, and the sun shone on the snow in a way that dazzled me. I actually found the Snowy Mountains beautiful once. My breath rose in a light mist that even my strong eyes could barely see in the glistening light, and only a few distant clouds marred the near perfection of the sky above me. When I had first settled myself on the mountain, hardly off the trail I was sure he would use, it had been dawn, an unusually red dawn, and though it had irked me, I had forgotten it. Nothing was going to go wrong. This scarlet sunrise was only a weather phenomenon, nothing more. I had become so clever at deception that fooling myself was simple.

I am not a patient person; my very nature is as restless and flighty as a bird's, and sitting on an uneven rock in the cold, waiting for a child who may or may not actually take the most direct path up the mountain (depending on how many interesting distractions managed to snare his attention), irked me. My mind wandered where my feet did not, playing the scene over and over in my mind. He would come to me, undoubtedly with his four-legged companions in tow. These would be a concern—the Dragon would naturally be able to sense my baser youkai nature, and the Dragon Dog, keen nosed, was even more likely to pin-point me for the enemy I was. I would have to eliminate the threat they posed without causing Ruin worry, a feat I was not sure I would be able to accomplish. And even if I managed to keep them from causing a scene, I could not imagine what I would say to my child. There were a hundred things, a thousand that I wanted to say to him. _I love you…_

I dreamed that I would take him easily into my hold and fly from the country of my enemies without any struggle. Before that day, I could not imagine Ruin caring about the creatures who had imprisoned him—maybe I was only lying further to myself, maybe I was only wildly hoping, but I dreamed that Ruin might remember me, might find my soul familiar, might have (maybe, in just the slightest) missed me as I had missed him. Can you see how easily I imagined taking him in my arms as I had once done, feeling his heartbeat languidly in time with my own, the part of my heart that was a part of his... I watched the snow sparkle and dreamed of happiness. It was like begging to have my hopes shattered! I might as well have thrown my imaginings off the side of the mountain for all they were worth.

"Look at us! The cold can't stop us, nothing can stop us!" It was his voice, for the first time, ringing in my ears. The trees still separated us, far too many of them, but the high cold air let me hear him. The sound was young, so much younger than I ever expected him to sound, but warm. I could not help but smile—his voice, if nothing else, was the voice I had always wanted Ruin to have, alight with an inner fire and infinitely happy. He was still the innocent I longed to teach, the pure enthusiasm in his words told me this easily, and I longed to see the face he had taken on more than ever. With a delicate wave of my hand, I sent the birds away. If he was anything like me, the novelty of such creatures would snare his attention.

"We have a Dragon Dog and a Fire Dragon! And of course, I'm the Dragon Knight of Fire. Plus, I know how to use ice magic. We're gonna kick butt!" He giggled, a sound that carried over the clear air to me and warmed some of the fear I had—a laugh this kind was not a polluted soul. Dragon's Blood or not, Ruin's soul was still that of an unboundchild. "A bird?" As I expected, the creatures enthralled him; I could hear the curiosity light like a flame in his voice. "Sugoi!(2) They're huuuge! And there's two! Let's follow them, come on guys!" Something happened that I could not see—there was a moment of still silence and then he laughed, melodiously. The sound carried over the snow as a tangible innocence, an utter disregard for darkness and worry, an unadulterated warmth. "Oh, we can handle that! We're a mighty army remember? Now come on, they went that way!"

He was achingly close: I could hear the crunch of his boots in the thick white drifts, the brush of his cloth against the trunks of trees as he raced, unwittingly, toward me. I could feel my own heart beating almost painfully against my ribs and anticipation drove all sense of the chill from my fingers and feet. I stood, gathering my cloak, and waited the long few seconds for him to reach me.

"Uh?" He froze, I froze, the clouds in the red sky ceased to move for a moment as I met the crimson eyes of my son for the first time. How could I ever hope to explain the feeling? Bliss and bitterness, euphoria and despair, everything my heart could feel I felt, looking at him, and the feeling itself was so powerful a pressure I was sure I might succumb to it and weep.

"Why hello there, little one." I said what I could, and no words could convey in the slightest the depth to which his beating heart shook me. You do not know, you cannot comprehend the natural, unconditional love a creator, no a father, a mother, has for his child—he was mine! I, I had brought this creature, so perfect to life! His laughter, purity, impossibly warm and open eyes… All this was mine, a part of me, and I became wholly fascinated with him. He was a tiny demon of his own right—and though I had always known that was what he would be, I could almost not believe it now. He had a heart, a conscience, knowledge, thoughts, dreams, and I was responsible for something this intrinsically beautiful? I loved him instantly and completely.

I had adored Ruin, the empty heart and mind, I had even adored the broken soul I had almost lost mine to create, but for this tiny new being before me, I had a feeling a million times greater: he was alive, he could run, breathe, listen and speak, could say he loved me… I knew, without having to deliberate on it for a moment, that even if he were eternally my enemy, I would protect him, try always to make him happy.

But do you see? In my selfishness, I mistook his happiness for my own. I convinced myself that the Dragons were chaining him, cutting his wings. I convinced myself he would be happy with me—but he never was! I wanted, in that moment, nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to prove that this was not some desperate imagining on my part, that even if it was a Dragon that had gotten a hold of him, he was still real… But, at first, I could not. I could not make myself move from where I stood—because as much as I wanted to believe I was looking at the being I had worked so hard to bring to life, I was not.

"Who are you? Do I know you?" This boy, this soul that should have been so much, was not Ruin. The body he was using was coursing with pure power; the dog beside him surveyed me with wary eye, knowing instantly what I was. Silently, I simply watched him, taking in every tiny detail of my child as if I was a mother reaching out for heryoung the first time. This body was not what I had intended. His hair was too dark, a sharp black that made his skin seem far paler than it actually was. There was a single white plume in it however, that pleased me—it was as light white as the roots of my own hair, and I wondered briefly if the streak had been my fault or Illuser's. For the years he had lived, he seemed unduly fragile, and I was reminded of another powerful being who I had worried for, whose life somehow had become tangled in happiness of demons... Still, his eyes were utterly and completely mine, unchanged by whatever the Dragon Tribe had poured into his blood. They were crimson, as vibrant, wide and alive as I always wanted them to be. Eyes, it seems to me, are statements about the type of people behind them—and the fiery irises I had given Ruin betrayed the torridity of his nature.

I could not simply let the silence lie, for fear of more than his departing, and at least, I was moved to answer his question. _Do I know you?_ "You don't recognize me?" I tried to smile, but it came across unsure and cold. It hurt me, almost physically, that he had absolutely no memory of me… He had reached out for me so desperately the night he had been born, and now he could not place my face even in the vaguest of memories? "You should. All little boys should remember their mothers. Aa, perhaps I should say that another way…" But I could not bring myself to correct the slip of my tongue. As strange it was to think about, I was the one who had given Ruin life. I had given my flesh and blood and heart to bring him into this world, and I had intended all along to raise him with all the care I had never known myself: unconditional love can teach even a demon kindness and gentility.

Ruin had never been a project, an experiment. He had never been a game or a mild curiosity to me. Since the moment I had dreamed his existance, Ruin had been a equal, a successor, a family—for him, the word "creation" would never have sufficed. My role in his life was never meant to be that of "creator". What was I then? Father, mother, the terms held little meaning to me and neither seemed to truly describe how tightly I held onto the bond between us—I certainly loved him more than any true youkai parent ever would have.

If I thought my manner of saying things would confuse him, or shake him, it did not. Only his companions seemed to grow unsettled, and the Dragon Dog growled deeply at me, as if warning menot toremain so close to his friend. The tiny boy in front of me only blinked his impossibly wide eyes and begged again,

"Who are you?" There was no fear in the tone, and he seemed oblivious to any danger he might be heading right into. There was also no indication on his childish face that he knew how much harm his words were causing me. How could he not remember? How could he remember nothing? Was I simply that unimportant to him, that easy to leave? How could he not love me when I cared so much for him? I had to know, as much as I knew it would pain me. I had to hear for myself what Ruin had become… The urge to examine the body he had been given, the need to hold my child became almost too much to bear. I approached him slowly, gently, fearing any sudden movement might startle him and his obviously suspicious companions.

"No, the question is… Who are you?" And as I reached, unsure and wary to feel this living being that was my scion, he said the only words that could have broken my heart further.

"Rath Illuser." It was like being stabbed. Rath? Of course I knew they must have given him another name, but hearing it, knowing that he went by it… It cut me deeply, and I felt bitterness bite again. This name did not belong to the soul, to the child I had given life. This awful name was farce, a lie, something that belonged solely to the body those Dragons had chained him in.

"Who gave you that name? That's a Dragon name."

"Yes, I'm a member of the Dragon Tribe!" It was then that I truly realized, felt as if I had been utterly destroyed, that things were not right. This was not Ruin. My son had not survived when his soul had fled me. Ruin was dead—and from his ashes had risen a being that was the impossible amalgam of Light and Darkness. A merging of opposites that should never have been possible. This was Rath Illuser, the Dragon Lord who was the son of a demon. My love for him was not lessened, but suddenly I pitied him, and I pitied myself.

I reached out to touch him, hoping to alleviate some of the agony of knowing things truly were un-repairable, but I found no solace in the motion—the moment my hand made contact with his shoulder I was rebuked, burnt by a force I did not understand. It was Dragon magic, I sensed it immediately, and hatred and horror struck me simultaneously. I could not even touch him? I could not even reach out my arms to the child who should have been clinging to my side! The Dragon Lord would not even allow me that little thing? I did not know if I wanted to plead with the omnipotent man or strike him dead. How heartless could this Dragon Lord be, to deny me the one tiny thing that might have given my mind some peace? At that time, I did not understand. I knew what was causing my pain, but not its purpose. It seemed to me only an instrument to keep Rath farther from me.

I should have realized it, but I was simply too far gone in my own emotions to think analytically about the situation. The Light Dragon Amulet was not really to keep Rath from other demons, but to keep him from himself—the undiluted Dragon blood and flesh did not work in conjunction with his youkai soul. Without the amulet, his body and soul simply could not function together. He was pulling himself apart from the inside out, and that pendant was sealing away his youki enough to keep him conscious. Just another of the _no other way_ situations associated with Rath. Of course, with my head so clouded with righteous indignation, I could not possibly have been expected to perceive this—I only became hurt and furious.

"What do you mean 'Who gave you that name'? Did I have a different name before?" Rath stared up at me, oblivious to the pain his charm had caused, innocent of all that was going on behind my stony eyes. It was hard to find my thoughts, I found myself simply turning the same things over and over. How had this happened? Why?

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you did. It was a long time ago…" For Rath, it was a time so long ago he could not remember it, before his birth in the form he wore… But for me, it seemed like only days since I had christened the tiny child in my arms. "Such a shame." I did not know what else to say, and no words sufficed to explain to Rath just how much pain seeing him this way, knowing that he did not know me, caused. I felt that I had to do something, anything to take a step forward in this stand still, frozen situation.

"I am Kharl, the alchemist." It changed nothing, but I wanted Rath to know me, more than anything else, I wanted to have back the soul that had looked to me for help.

"Alchemist?" Even his naïve curiosity caused a twinge in my heart, and in the hand that was not extended to him, my fingers clenched uncomfortably. What more could I think but how fallacious this entire affair was? I hated it all, hated seeing him this way and still loving him, hated not being ableto close the barest inch between us, hated the fact that I remembered everything… But more than anything else, I felt my heart pounding in my ears, felt my fangs breaking the delicate skin on my bottom lip, felt the jarring pain lingering in my hand, and I knew a hatred entirely too intense.

I hated the Dragon Lord. I hated their entire clan, and everything their glorious castle stood for—to me it was all a pack of lies. The Dragon Clan was thieving, cruel and deceiving. They put up the shining façade of perfection, but I could easily see through it. They were nothing but fools with swords and ambition. What did it matter if a few demons like Rath and I suffered? Nothing, if they accomplished their long term goal: peace. At the time it was almost laughable. Their peace turned a blind eye to lives lost on both sides. If humans died they were martyrs; if youkai died they were just more of the enemy, whether or not they had ever harmed the Dragon Tribe.

I kept my youki purposely low, weakly hoping not to frighten Rath, but I knew that now that was out of the question. I could not let my son be held from me this way. I could not just sit by, content to watch and hear the vaguest of rumors. I would save him. I would burn out the pollution they'd poured into his veins. I would return Ruin –Rath– to the state he was meant to have. No amulet, no Dragon blood could keep him from me.

"It means I create souls." I answered his question carefully, a response planned and prepared to trigger exactly the reaction I needed. My youki spiked, and the Dragon Dog felt it where Rath seemed oblivious. Crewger openly snarled at me, I smelt the lancing fear in the air. "Like the soul of a demon." There was no time to go further with introductions, no time to explain—I reached out and snatched Rath. I did not mean to be so rough, but had no choice, as the Amulet tried to repel me the instant I made contact.

The pain was intense and instant. He twisted in my grip, frightened and uncomfortable, and I concealed just how much panic was slipping into my own system. I never imagined direct contact with him would hurt this much—it felt as if my flesh was burning in my gloves.

"Demon!" he cried, "Are you a demon?" The Dragon Dog howled his frustration, but the excessive youki I was exerting and the sparking and snapping Blood Barrier crushed his power. I had to lift my other hand to keep my hold onRath's coat.

"Of course. Thank you for not noticing. It demonstrates how much you and I have in common." His naiveté was charming, but that was not what I was commenting on. What I had said was really a spiteful insult to the tribe he now happily claimed to be member of—perhaps he had failed to notice I was a youkai because demons and Dragons look the same. Pointed ears, fangs, unnatural auras… _Thank you for not noticing. If I hadn't known you were a demon, I wouldn't have pegged you for one either._ The irony of his appearance rubbed salt into my open wounds. I felt the power shattering the air between us, and though I schooled my face into a false smile, I could do nothing to hide the beads of sweat sliding down my temple.

If anything, the defensive barrier only grew stronger, thickening the air and burning acridly. I struggled to maintain my hold, youki rising another notch. Nausea, from the sudden exertion and clash of powers, turned my stomach. He screamed as if he felt it too, a raw and horrible sound to my ears, and the powers spiraled to a snap. The cord broke, and fearing prolonged contact, I flicked it to Left Bird, who cast it aside into the snow. Rath fell limp in my arms, and the pain that still lingered from the amulet faded in the feeling of holding my child. It made me warm and benevolent, and for a few moments, I forgot that he was a Dragon and reveled in being able to hear his faint breath and feel his heart beat.

"It doesn't matter what you are called now. I know who you really are. I know _what_ you really are." My beautiful son, my most precious endeavor, the child I would give my heart to keep alive, to save. "We've been apart for so long." What had they taught him? What poisonous lies had they filled his head with? How many had he killed, watched them kill, because they given him a sword and let him play warrior? "Much too long for precious demon like you." I made a silent promise that I would return him not only to the form he should have had, but grant him a peace the Dragon Tribe had never managed to. For a moment, holding him was almost enough to bring back the true happiness I had felt holding Ruin. But nothing could make me forget the scent of Dragon's blood in his veins.

"I could kill you right now, you a king of Dusis… Just like the king of Arinas, trying to steal everything from me." It was to Rath and not, as I listened to the slow rise and fall of his breath and darkened at the thought that he could ever be a Dragon Lord, could ever play the beloved prince to the man who had strived to strip away from me the one thing I truly loved. "Do you understand how much that irritates me?"

I had to drive this Dragon Blood out of him, had to restore singularity to his nature. I had to free the youkai and destroy the Dragon in him. I released the Demon Seed carefully—not into him directly, where the contrasting power would have caused him damage, but beneath us, using my youki to spark its growth. I was beginning to tire, unsteady after having to cope with the amulet, but my power was no less stable and perfectly allotted than it normally was. Still, I was not willing to make even the slightest mistake, so I called on the birds to aide me. Demonic energy flooded the forest, almost palpable in the air. The Demon Seed grew wildly without needing my interference at all. I remember smiling, a pure happy smile—every single thing was perfect. Soon I would have the angel in my reach again.

"Raaaath!" A concerned shout and the heavy rustle of brush struck me, and I knew immediately, in a feeling that stilled my heart for a beat, that things were about to become much less perfect. If I was surprised at who came stumbling into the clearing, I don't recall it. Of course it would be that strange man –I had almost forgotten his name– who had spoken so conspiratorially of my son. Kai-stern, Blue Dragon Officer. Of course he would be the one to find Rath, Fate seems to love playing tricks on me. I should have killed him the night I met him; I cursed myself mentally for being so generous. If I had only… But, in the end, I am glad I did not kill him in the bar or in the mountains—because he saved Rath, protected Rath were I failed. I should say that I owe him a great deal of thanks. At that time however, I remember hating him instantly, for things he had never done, hating him for being what he could not help being. _Dragon!_ All my senses screamed to me, and for a moment even Rath was forgotten. I wanted nothing more than to see this Dragon Officer hurt, destroyed—I wish I had not felt so violent, had thought more clearly. If I had not been so blinded by my cruelty perhaps I could have understood Rath's feelings. Perhaps I could have prevented the worst mistake of them all.

"What the hell?" The white-haired man stared at Rath, encased in the swiftly spreading Demon Seed. In his light eyes, I saw a grain of fear that only incensed me. _Coward_, I couldn't help but think, _Don't face with me with such a stupid look._ His eyes only widened, confused, at the birds, and finally, his impossibly pale gaze lit on me.

"Sorry, but Rath can't come out to play." The sarcasm and antipathy in my voice could not have been more evident. He twitched visibly, turning to look more fully at me. His hands, clad in black leather gloves, clenched into fists. A cruel smile snuck its way across my lips. "I'm taking back that which was mine. By name, Rath." A bead of sweat slipped down his forehead, and he wrapped his arms around himself in the attempt to physically block out the oppressive youki.

"Taking back? Yours?" He queried in a voice that projected a nonchalance I knew he was not in possession of. I could have laughed.

"Don't miss a beat, do you? Rath has great power inside of him. It will be brought to the surface, once I've infused this body with demon powers." He did not understand me obviously, and his wide-eyed stare, far too expressive stare, was hard to meet. The sheer audacity of his simply being there suddenly irked me, and I raised my hand and sent a single shot of undiluted demonic energy at him. It struck his arm and sent him skittering backward. Not as far as I had hoped –he slammed into a tree and braced himself there, pouring filthy Dragon's blood across the pure white snow. As if the Dragon's very presence had lightened my power over the area, Crewger shook off his stupor and stood defensively beside the light-haired man, growling his displeasure. The cold air misted both of their breaths, and I walked him draw his sword. Where his body had not shown it, the sword blade clearly betrayed his trembling. Like any youkai, instinct raged in me, and the weakness in my prey invigorated me.

"I've only given Rath a couple Demon Seeds. Just enough to get him to sprout a few more arms and start breathing fire. What's wrong with that?" It was an utter lie (I would never have disfigured Rath in any way), a clever little comment, but he must not have known the rumors the Demon Army had spread about Rath. I was delighted when it struck home with him, making his eyes darken with indignant rage. Oh, so he thought he was going to save Rath from me? It was too ironic, and it made my fingers tighten into fists reflexively. I could feel my claws threatening to rip the delicate cloth. Despite his open wound he was so enraged he forced himself at me again, raising that flimsy sword as if it were his lifeline. I let myself fall back, feet instinctively finding all the right places to keep me just out of his reach. He pushed forward with the steel, and not willing to move any further, I opened an separate dimension in my palm, setting the exit in line behind him.

The phenomenon is called "temporal displacement", shifting something on an alternate plane that is simultaneously shifting on an original plane. I don't think he would have cared in the slightest for this information, but it might have diffused his shock at being stabbed by his own weapon. Having the same arm struck twice could not have felt at all pleasant, and as the blade slid through his flesh he jerked backward. The opening he created was filled by the Snow dog, who leapt at me, fangs bared. Instantly I lifted a guarding arm, using youki to throw him off. With a howl and a whimper he rolled through the snow. Foolishly, he clambered to his four feet again, swaying on the spot.

"Sorry, I should have mentioned this: your attacks are useless against me." He was panting, heavy breaths that clouded misty in the frigid air. His face was decorated with icy sweat that looked sickly over pale skin so flushed from the cold. But he was looking more over my shoulder than at me, eyeing the Demon Seed vines with a deep seated concern that unsettled me. He was not supposed to worry for Rath. He was not supposed to love him… "Rath is reverting to his demon state." _The original state, the state before you bound and chained him!_ That jerked his attention away from the vines fast enough. "It's the birds, you see. Left Bird clouds your mind and Right Bird weakens you physically. As long as I have them, your attacks will be rather pointless." He stood still, blood dripping down the sleeve of his coat and pooling around his glove. "Of course, there's Honou(3)… Except without Rath you can't even get him to fetch, can you?"

The fire dragon lay prone in the snow, helpless against the oppressive power of birds and I. Without his master, destined or not, he was useless. Perhaps it was the knowledge that their best weapons were powerless before me, perhaps it was simply the astounded and defenseless look on the Dragon Officer's face, perhaps it was even the feeling of Rath's own youki flaring up, testing its boundaries, behind me, but suddenly I could not help but feel as if I had won, had succeeded. I began to laugh, a sound colored dark by my hatred of the Dragon Tribe and the irony that had caught Rath and I up.

The entire clearing lit with the power of the Birds' and Rath's youki, and I felt it course through the surrounding arealike raging fire. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I shivered in delight at the feeling. The Dragon and I watched on as the Demon Seed dissolved, revealing Rath to me. Only the word beautiful can suffice. He had grown, an unexpected but unimportant side effect of the intense power flowing into him, and his skin was pale and unmarred. But what I found most entrancing were his wings, immense and blacker than I could ever have imagined. Not a feather rose out of place; ebony spilled around his shoulders and beyond. The very fibers of each feather, more delicate than I had pictured them, astounded me, ensnared me, and I wondered if anything in this world could be more perfect, more simply exquisite. _Nothing,_ I knew, I know, _Nothing can come close to being worthy of him._ Maybe every parent thinks this of their child… But as Rath fell slowly into my arms, I truly believed it. I still believe it.

His eyes were closed, shadowed by his wispy black hair, and I admired for a moment the way his long obsidian eyelashes stood out so boldly on his white skin. With hands I forced to stay steady, I reached, and with the barest of touches, caressed his cheeks. To be this close, to feel his warm breath against my hands was rapture. I thought then if I could only keep him by me forever, I would never be able to feel pain, I would never know suffering… Then as if mocking even further, that too was stripped from me—I was thrown back from him by a light, too bright, a burning force that I felt before I saw it.

"What? What is this?" My voice was meek, strange sounding to my ears, and I felt the snow melting into my clothing where I kneeled on the ground, too stunned to pick myself up. Some force was keeping me from being near him; though I had brought his Demon blood far to the fore, someone was protecting him from my power… The light burnt brighter, solidified, spiraled around Rath and illuminated the area with a golden glow that glittered against the snow and lengthened all the shadows. From the brilliance the angular face of a dragon emerged, golden eyes bearing down in a manner that made me feel insignificant and furious. "The Light dragon?" Why had I not thought of it earlier? Of course, Fire was only an added ability—with the Dragon Lord's blood inside him, Rath would naturally be considered a master of Shin(3)... My thoughts were broken roughly by a voice that chilled me far more than the snow could.

"Stop…it…" The sound was rough, hissed, inhuman. It was almost as if it did not belong to Rath at all but someone else, inconstant and trembling; it sounded very much like the unfiltered voice of a soul. _Ruin!_ "Don't… awaken me… Leave… me… alone!" But it couldn't be! How could he rebuke me? How could he not remember! Why? _Don't you remember that I love you?_ "I want to forget. Let me forget." He could not have chosen crueler words—five syllables were enough to scar me, break me down. He didn't mean it, couldn't possibly… Ruin would never hate me, why would he? It was the Dragons, had to be them! They had polluted him, had confused his mind, affected him in ways I could not have foreseen! For a moment Rath's crimson eyes, pupils dilated, met mine, and I could not read them. Fear? But for what reason? Then, as if he could not bear to look at me, he turned away, hiding again behind the tangible light that separated us.

"It's one of your bloody guardian dragons!" I was sure in my belief at that time: Rath was acting the way he was because the Dragons had changed him, chained him, corrupted him. I would save him, I would bring him home and fix him, heal him… The only thing in my way was the golden light, an unbreaking barrier between my son and I. I let the youki bloom, violent and strong, in my palm. I would kill the dragon and unshackle Rath. I would burn all the Dragon's blood from him, harmonize him, restore the wings those idiots in their falsely peaceful castle had cut away.

"I'm sorry but I can't let you do that!" The officer whose presence I had almost forgotten threw himself at me, using his sword to cut and deflect my power. Undoubtedly it was causing him some harm—being in contact with unadulterated demonic energy is as smart as drinking poison.

"Fool." I hissed, disliking the feel of his sword so close to my flesh. "Left Bird, Right Bird!" I called furiously, using youki to push his weapon back, "Distract Rath, then kill the dragon."

"I told you I won't allow it!" The white-haired man struck viciously, forcing me to step back. A crooked sneer lit on my face, and I remember thinking that Rath was mine, soul and mind. His existence was due to me—I was not about to hand him over to some fool and his breed of demon slayers. Things were shifting, the youki around us rose and fell, rippling like the fluid surface of a pond being jostled by an earthquake. When the Light dragon was pulled back into Rath, I thought for a second I had won, overcome their strange magic, but the truth was far from that. He began to cry.

Sobbing, tears, these things were not unknown to me, but to see; it was horrible in a way you could not possibly understand. Rath was suffering and there was nothing I could do to stop it! I felt helpless, foolish… I could only watch in blank awe as tears (can I call them that?) stained his pale cheeks. And then amid the unsure tempest-like energies, he screamed, a feral agonizing sound—too much like the howl of the broken soul that night! I shut my eyes for the barest of moments, tried desperately to drown out the noise—I should not have been so weak, I should have watched. Maybe I could have… It was in that barest moment when I stopped looking that I felt a familiar youki flare, and die. Frightened, I ripped my eyes open again, frantic to prove my senses wrong. What I saw froze me completely, snatching away my breath and heartbeat: in his claws, Rath held the shreds of my beloved Left Bird. Black feathers that seemed suddenly to cruelly mimic each other fell around us, wet with blood. They marred the snow where they drifted, looking innocent and terrible. My companion, my aide, my masterful sculptor, torn to pieces in a second of needless violence.

My stomach turned, it took nearly all my strength to remain standing. _Dead. He killed Left Bird._ I thought I might be simultaneously numb and nauseous. I could not even lift my feet to move, I was so lost in the surge of emotion that clouded everything. Sadness, rage, fear, confusion… Rath fell into the Dragon's hold, and I did nothing to stop it. The demonic power faded, and his feathers fell one by one to join Left Bird's in the pristine white carpeting. _He murdered my—_ I could not even gather my thoughts. My most cherished gift, the last artifacts of my Master, the man who had saved me… The very embodiment of my power, and he had struck Left Bird down as if it were nothing. As if the things I loved meant nothing. As if I meant nothing. Was he so far gone? Did he have absolutely no care for me? _You hate me that much?_ Enough to destroy part of the power that brought you life, enough to take from me something precious?

The Dragons were all the same—thieves, murderers! And now Rath had truly become one of them. He had stolen from me another part of my heart—it meant nothing to him. The Dragon Officer watched me, clinging to my child as if Rath was his own, and I could see the fear in his gaze. It was if he was begging me to leave them in peace, to leave Rath in peace, to stop trying to _kidnap_ him from their grip. It wasn't right, it made no sense, he _loved_ him, and I couldn't stand to be looked at in that manner: as if I was some evil creature who had meant to harm Rath. Thoughts ran back and forth in my mind so fast I could grasp none of them. Left Bird was gone, Rath hated me, I had done something wrong? I could not bear to look at the pair of them in the snow, mangled and stained.

"Let's go." I murmured it, to Right Bird, my only remaining comfort, and I turned. I could not bear to think… Rath had chosen the Dragon Tribe over me. Over me. I was in shock, I could feel it, and I knew that later everything would hurt a hundred times worse. I wanted to go home, I wanted to sleep. If I forced myself into dreamless sleep, I could so easily pretend none of this had happened, none of this… _His tears are blood._

I should have sensed her ahead of time, I should have been able to note her presence, but my mind was so lost to the world that I would not have sensed the Dragon Lord had he been a foot from me. She was standing with her back to a gnarled pine tree, and one of her pink locks had haphazardly become tangled in the jagged bark. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, and I wondered at the delicate air she managed even in such as terrible moment. At last, when I knew it could not be helped, I met her eyes. The roseate gaze hurt, hurt in a way I could never hope to explain. Sorrow, condemnation, anguish… She knew, knew that I had done the very thing she had warned me not to. Worse, she had known all along that I would suffer this event, that Rath would hate me, that I would lose everything. She had foreseen it andtried so hopelessly to stop me… And now her eyes told me that she was not angry—but that she pitied me! I saw in herglance not sympathy but some lesser emotion; to her was I some foolish little animal, incapable of looking beyond the end of my nose?

She did not speak to me, and she did not cry. Under her gaze I begged with my eyes for either, begged that she scold me, begged that she show me something besides pity and agony… I wanted to be given a chance to justify my actions, but the chance was not granted. Instead she only watched me, gaze too steady and sad for such a pretty face. I dropped my eyes as I passed her. I was not strong enough to stand condemnation, not strong enough to admit… I felt guilty. _Please, I didn't mean to, I only wanted, it wasn't my—_ Had I done something wrong? Had I caused pain? I never meant to… Was losing Ruin –Rath– my fault, was losing Left Bird on my conscience too? Had I misunderstood everything? I could not bring myself to stop, to tell her what I had intended, to ask her to forgive me, to ask her if I had just shaken the future of the world… Regret tightened my throat, stung my eyes, and I shivered from a cold that was internal. It would hurt my dignity to say I ran from her and from Rath, broken and bloody, but I did. I ran because I had been foolish, because I was terrified, hurt, alone, because more than anything, I was afraid of being hated…

When I reached the castle again, I stood on the front steps for a long while before I brought my hand to the door. It had been cold in Dusis, but here the weather was perfect, the sun as bright and golden as the Light dragon's hide. It made me even sicker. How could the sun shine so steadily, as if my life had not just been shattered into a million tiny pieces? I did not enter. I did not want to find you smiling and happy. I did not want to explain anything. I did not want to remember… But standing there, I could do nothing but think about the blood in his eyes and the anguish in hers. My heart began to pound, and I knew that soon I would have to face the true pain of all that happened. This guilt now, this sense of loss would be nothing. Like a hammer, the true weight of things was going to fall and crush me.

I avoided you when I finally entered the castle, silencing my footsteps and moving faster than I needed to. I had expended so much power, my body was teetering between consciousness and sleep—but even so, I think it was my soul that was the weariest. None of it made sense to me, everything seemed painted in a despair blacker than nightfall, blacker than the feathers of his wings... My heart hurt, a pain awful enough to be physical. It was as if, with his immaculate hands, the Dragon Lord had torn me limb from limb—emptied me of everything, taken my heart in his fingers and ripped it apart vein by vein. I collapsed on my bed, counting the knots in the wooden rafters with half-lidded eyes that saw but didn't. Strands of my hair ghosted across my pillow and cheeks, like spiders' legs. For a moment I tried to listen to my uneven breath, but the quavering sound only reminded me of Rath, of ruin.

I knew that I was sobbing before I felt it, and I was powerless to stop myself. Whimpers shook me and worked their way between the fangs I obstinately dug into my bottom lip. It was all I could do to keep my body from curling into the smallest ball possible and pulling the blankets over my head. I don't know when I started to howl, my ears did not seem to function, but it must have been a truly ear-splitting sound. What was I screaming at? The injustice, the irony, the idiocy? It was everything, Rath, the Dragons, the Star Princess—I raged and sobbed about every cruelty, every unkind turn God had permitted…

My voice strained, broke, I could not stand laying so still. I struck out wildly and tore my fine pillows and blankets to ribbons. Whatever youki left in me seemed enough to cause destruction: the wall torches leapt and roared with blue flame that ate through the wood in seconds. The high and fine glass window shattered, filling the room with glass and scraps of the thick drapes. Goose feathers from my pillows fluttered unsure through the air, their soft white color mocking my own feathers. I wrapped my hands protectively around myself, intent of blocking out the world, but I only succeeded in shredding the sleeves of my shirt, ruining something else…

I didn't even hear your footsteps until you pushed open the door I had failed to lock. I felt you cross the room, gingerly stepping around the mess I'd made. You stood beside my bed, silently, and I tried desperately to still my sobs, if only to preserve some of the respect you might have held for me.

"Left Bird did not return." Your voice sounded suddenly much older, kinder than it normally did, and I was reminded that as childish as you looked, your mind was that of a man who had lived many lifetimes. The reserve and tact with which you handled me, I have always been envious of. You did not ask where I had gone, who I had faced, what had caused this sudden panic. You did not tell me things were going to be fine—because instinctively you knew they would not. You knew what we had lost. For your silent acceptance I was infinitely grateful. I dropped my head into my hands and marveled at the dryness of my cheeks. Not a single tear, as if I could not shed them. _Tears of blood…_ I forced the memory away, forced away all the black despairthat meeting had taught me...

"I hate them, I _hate_ them all." My voice was muffled and cold in my ripped gloves.

"So you come back here and take out your anger on the furniture?" The indignation in your voice felt strange and out of place for the moment, but not in a way that bothered me. With a deft hand, you lifted up the tattered remains of a pillowcase for me to see. "Do you know how hard it is to patch satin?" I could not help it, I laughed. Not a merry sound, but a wry, unpleasant chuckle. Your effort was at least worthy of that. All the pouting anger drained from your eyes, and you shook your head, long black strands dancing back and forth languidly.

You looked at me seriously, and I returned the look as levelly as I could. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself—someone your age ought to have better control!" You crossed your arms over your tiny form and huffed. "Crying looks really stupid on a grown-up." I sniffed childishly, feeling foolish and immature for letting my anguish take me over so completely. You turned and walked away, undoubtedly tofind the things you would need to clean up the mess I'd made. I blinked once as you hovered in the doorway, then turned to give me a crooked, violent smile. "Besides, it's not like we're going to let them get away with taking Master Kharl's precious things."

With that you vanished, leaving me alone to brush the white feathers around, to think about how awful I must have looked… _We're not going to let them get away with it. We're not._ You were right, I could not simply lie in agony and let them win. I had failed twice now, and paid for my mistakes. I would not fail again. I would not approach this the same way, would not let my emotions become clouded. I would not let myself be swayed by guardian dragons or Dragon Officers with false acceptance and love in their eyes. If it meant he would have come back to me, I would have killed them all. That was what I believed then—yet when the opportunity came, I healed them instead. I didn't understand then like I do now. I hope they all survive. I hope Rath…

It took me months to return to my normal self. No, I can't say that—because after what happened in the Snowy Mountains, I was never the same. I had become bitter, had come to feel hatred so much stronger, had come to dislike making the tiniest of errors. I became methodical, determined to be utterly precise in all my actions. I became wary and so much colder. Still, when the horror I'd felt that day had receded, and the simple things like watching Right Bird fly ceased to make me long for Left Bird, I was able to go back to laughing, to enjoying your cooking, to watching the sea and not bitterly dreaming about my son on the far shore. I thought maybe I could have a tiny bit of peace, a few moments of happiness before I gave my heart back to rescuing Rath. In the months after what happened in Dusis, I thought I ought to get to enjoy things. But even this was denied me. Without even meaning to, Rath had thoroughly taken over my life, as a single morning showed me...

"Oi lady, I don't know who you think you—" From downstairs, I heard your voice, loud and angry, rise up. What was going on? I abandoned the book I had been reading, ran my fingers through my hair in the attempt to make it look as if I'd brushed it, and left my room. It was early, just after breakfast, and I had not bothered to change out of my night clothes. Who was here, causing such an uproar?

"You don't understand, I have to speak with him immediately!" I knew that voice! The soft, feminine tone was breathless and rushed, but it was no less familiar. I hurried down the hallway, picking up my steps. You have always had a quick temper, and I didn't think a strange woman in the house was going to make you happy…

"You can't just waltz in here and—" I turned the corner, and saw one of the strangest sights ever to grace the main hall.

"Lord Alchemist!" The Star Princess, held at bay by a menacing ash sword, had frozen with her arms spread wide, placating you, my Hellcat apprentice. In turn you spun your head to glare up at me, clearly interrogating. I giggled at the ridiculous scene, pleased not only by the strangeness of it, but by the fact that she had come to see me—I had thought that moment in the mountains would be our last meeting. The betrayal in her eyes seven months ago seemed to say I would never meet with her again. I leaned over the landing's stone rail, smile apparent on my face. Obviously reluctant, you let the sword dissolve, and the Star Princess composed herself. I could see through it: something was bothering her, something large enough to drive her uninvited into my castle. Her body was stiff, her fingers toyed nervously with the cuff of her sleeves. Her eyes, which I was almost afraid to meet (for fear I might see that sorrow again) were wide and wavering and wet with what I hoped were not tears.

"You haven't brought me pleasant news, have you Hime-sama?" My grin was fast becoming wane. She shook her head rapidly, pink locks cascading around her thin form. I could see that those eyes had indeed clouded with crystalline tears, and I prayed silently for Rath's safety.

"L-Lord Alchemist… I've made a grave error!"

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Translation Notes:  
**1- Hime-sama:** I put this in Japanese because English doesn't have a good equal for it. "Hime" is the designation given to princesses, and "sama" is a suffix that denotes a great deal of respect. Saying "Your Highness" just doesn't have the same sound. When Kharl says this, he is being both familiar (oh, how bold!) and respectful. He is showing her a kindness that "Your Majesty" can't hope to grab. A literal translation would be something like "Lady Princess" or (if you consider the term respectful) "Miss Princess". On the reverse side, I had the Star Princess refer to Kharl as "Renkinjutsushi-sama" (Lord Alchemist). By calling him by his title and not his name, the Star Princess is reassuring some distance in their tentative and strange relationship, while simultaneously expressing a healthy dose of humility.  
**2 - Sugoi! **I left this in Japanese solely for the cuteness factor. Sugoi (S'-go-ee)!is Japanese for "Cool", "amazing", "wow"! It just sounds so much cuter than the translation, doesn't it?  
**3 - Honou/Shin: **If you're a super DK otaku, like me, you probably already know what these words mean. I really can't stand Tokyopop's hideous translations, so I make it a firm business to refer to the Dragons by their (REAL!) Japanese names: Fire is _Honou_, which means "Flame". Water is _Kahaku_, which means "River Chief". Earth is _Riku_, which means "Shore". Wind is _Hayate_, which means "Hurricane". I think I mentioned that name in an eariler chapter... Light/Deus, is _Shin_, which has many applicable meanings including "Heart", "Truth" and "Divinity".

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Author's Notes: Was it totally awful? Please, tell me it wasn't completely worthless! With this chapter, Cloaks has become the longest story I have ever written, and it's really not that close to being finished. Right now, I'm looking at about ending the story at around chapter 25, plus I have a bunch of Omake shorts I've been writing along the way. So yeah, I hope you'll stick around that long… Also, this is important! **I'm leaving for Europe for six weeks! The next expected post should be roughly August 7th.** But I'll try to make up for the long wait by setting Chapter 17's deadline at August 30th. I'm sorry for not being able to update for you all, but I'll be busy chatting up the Germans again.

Review Responses:  
**Leeayre:** Did you get my review response this time? I hope so, considering how hard I worked to get it to you! Fanfiction is evil to me. I'm sorry if I totally failed to answer your questions, but I promise the next chapter will answer at least one of them. Did I totally kill Ohkami-sama's beautiful Black Education? I think so…  
**Yami-chan and the Unrealistic:** So, what do you think of this chapter? More randomness that never happened in the manga right? (And some stuff that did happen in the manga…) Thank you for reviewing!  
**xxDKGurlxx:** Well, this chapter was pretty much all about Rath… What did you think of it? Bad, good? Anyway, thank you for reviewing, and I hope you'll stick around through my long absence…  
**Random Irony:** I like the name change. :D I'm sorry I failed to update in 13 days, but I did meet my deadline! What do you think of this chapter? It's so hard to live up her super awesome work… I feel bad for Kharl too. I want to cuddle him.

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	16. Master of Macabre

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Author's Notes: Well, here it is, chapter 16. Only one day late, not bad considering it is, yet again, the longest chapter. I'm so sorry these are so long; I really didn't plan it being that way. But this chapter goes all the way to Bierrez's invasion of the castle, so there's a lot to talk about! Hopefully I managed to make everything clear and yeah… I know there is some crazy stuff in here that no one else was expecting. Sorry, but that's just the way things have to be. (Wink!) I actually have an ending planned, so if something seems off to you… It's probably foreshadowing! Ha ha, you didn't hear that. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. I like Garfakcy, a lot. I am just realizing that. He's such a… Well, he's going to end up a major role in everything I write for this series, I just know it. Speaking of that, I already have a new story planned for when I finish this story (Gasp, I never believed I'd make it that far!) You can check out the sketchy summary in my profile. Have fun reading this chapter! (Don't die of eye strain!)

Note: At this point in time** it may be useful** to have books 4 and 21 at your disposal.

Disclaimer: I filed a petition with Ohkami-san askingfor herpermission to claim Kharl and Garfakcy as my own. I was rejected, thoroughly and immediately. Looks like they're still not my property. Which is probably a good thing…

Background Music: Siren Song (Kajiura Yuki)

**Let's throw a party:** With the edition of this chapter, Cloaks officially became the **longest Dragon Knights fanfiction** posted on this site!

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 16-_  
Master of Macabre

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"L-Lord Alchemist… I've made a grave error!" The air in the room could not have gotten thicker if Nadil himself had chosen that moment to stride through my door. You looked at me, confused and demanding and she looked at me, desperate and even more demanding. With a sigh that was half fake and half serious, I dropped my head onto my arms, crossed on the railing, and muttered in a mock tone of exasperation,

"I think tea and cake are in order," and then the smile slipped back onto my face, betraying my less than testy mood.

"You must understand! This situation is—"

"Quite dire?" I nodded sagely down at her, disliking the entire affair. Couldn't horrid news wait until after I was dressed? "Forgive me Hime-sama, but I am not at all ready to receive you. A few moments are all I need—perhaps you would take this time to calm down a bit?" As if admonished, her pale face colored and she shrunk in her flowing white dress.

"O-Of course, I wasn't thinking…" A dismissive wave eased her embarrassment. Had she just realized how bold she had been, invading my castle without warning? With a glance that I tried to make stern, I turned on you. You must remember her visit—do you remember the way your face looked? Utter and complete distrust and confusion. I almost laughed; it was as if, in your mind, you could not reconcile the beautiful princess standing elegantly beside you and the tousled youkai I was, half asleep on the landing. I could almost see youdoing the math in your head and drawing a blank.

"Garfakcy, take the lady to the drawing room. I think Chamomile tea would be best." You gave a curt nod to me, and then with an acidic glint in your green eyes, lead the princess away. I had the feeling, as I ascended the staircase again, a thorough explanation on my part was long overdue. Thoughtlessly I pulled out the first set of decent clothing I could find, some traditional confection of greens and blues and a stiff high collar. Still struggling with the unmanageable waist sash, I wandered back out of my room, stepping over the night clothes I'd carelessly tossed down.

I did not hurry, though leaving a woman, particularly one who was so clearly not a demon, unattended in my dangerous castle did not strike me as the wisest of ideas. I did not really want to see her now, did not want to hear what ill she bore this time. I was afraid that she might have come only to give me warning about another pain I could not avoid… But making her wait would not get rid of her, and I had a feeling that if you had to serve tea without me in the room, the entire meeting would become a greater catastrophe than it already was. I picked up my pace reluctantly.

It was to my weak relief I arrived before you. The Star Princess had taken a place in one of the carved mahogany and velvet chairs, near the small hearth. Though it was early, light seemed not to shine strongly in the room, giving it a warm and pleasant air. Normally the delicate furniture and closed quiet of the room would have comforted me, but today I wanted nothing more than to throw myself back into bed and pull the covers over my head. I did not let this hesitance show and took a chair beside her with an utterly fake half smile. She knew how I was really feeling, and I was more than grateful that she did not comment on it.

I had finally opened my mouth to ask for her ill news when you bustled through the door, bearing a busier tea tray than I had ever seen. How you had possibly whipped it all up in the few minutes it had taken me to dress was beyond me. Warily I checked the cakes on the Princess' side, just in case you'd decided to treat her to ash rather than your wonderful cooking. To my surprise, everything appeared to be edible and smelt delicious. You really had pulled out all we had: lemon cakes, butter biscuits, jams made from fruit I didn't even know grew in our garden, perfectly tapered sugar cubes, the finest china and the Master's favorite silver spoons…

I knew you must really have disliked not knowing what was going on—the fine meal was clearly meant not only to humble the princess but to make me feel guilty for cutting you out of things. Success, by the way. Still, I wondered if maybe the obsessive care that had gone into the tea and snacks was also testament to something else. You were naturally jealous, and the fact that I showed someone who was not even a demon –someone who appeared to be a useless, fragile little woman– such a high level of respect must have irritated you like nothing else. Undoubtedly, you (maybe you didn't even notice your actions) were trying to illustrate just how much more useful you were to me.

"Thank you." I offered crisply, clearly indicating that while I was glad for the excellent tea, there were things to be talked about that you were not allowed to know. With a look that told me you were going to find out what was really going on if it took my life, you left us alone. For a few seconds we sat in silence, and then she surprised me.

"He worries a lot about you." She had read beyond the prickly aura you'd exuded around her. I smiled, genuinely happy for the first time since I'd woken.

"With good reason." My grin must have grown a little sheepish. "I would have neglected myself to death without him." Or starved, but my ineptitude was not easily admitted. She smiled in return, and it was easy to forget for a moment that she had come here bearing grave news. I poured the tea, enjoying the heavy and calming scent of the Chamomile steam. Holding the china cup in both of her delicate hands, she sipped it cautiously.

"I hate to darken our meeting, but you came here on dire business. Is there something we should discuss?" She lowered the cup slowly, and the sudden sadness in her eyes was almost oppressive. I offered her a tea cake, there seemed to be little else I could do.

"I should have realized, I don't know why. I never tried to see him, it's difficult…"

"Dire as it may be, let's try to go through it logically." She took a deep breath and another sip of her tea, silently trying to lay her thoughts in order.

"When you… When you met Rath in the mountains, the Light Dragon tried to prevent you taking him." I tensed visibly at the memory, putting my tea cup down quickly to avoid crushing it. "It expended itself, and could not be saved." The Light Dragon was dead? I had killed one of the Dragon Tribe's most precious treasures and not even known? "But Lord Rath cannot sustain himself without the Light Dragon—there are too many conflicting powers. Without Shin's strength to stabilize him, Rath is falling apart." I heard the words, but somehow I could not understand them. Because of what I had done, Rath was dying? I had…

"There is a way… There was a way to save him. I thought, if the Light Dragon's soul could receive power, it would be able to maintain itself, and protect Lord Rath…"

"But in order to pass power over to the Light Dragon, the holder of such would have to be immensely strong."

"Hayate." She murmured the word and did not need to say more. She had intended to use the Wind Dragon's power to fortify Shin's. "I instructed Blue Officer Kai-stern to search for the Wind Dragon, but it was an awful mistake…"

"Nadil has already destroyed it." I took another sip of my tea, contemplating her words.

"I didn't know, I never tried to see that man, I never would have imagined… I gave them so much hope! I told the Officer that he could save Lord Rath… How can I face them and say that I was wrong?" Her roseate eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

"You came to me." And some of the reason for her visit was making itself clear.

"There is something, a part of the Wind Dragon's power…"

"The Wind Staff." I offered, into the rim of my teacup. She nodded barely, pink locks drifting like strands of spider web across her slender shoulders.

"It cannot be avoided now. Lord Rath is going to die." I felt a chill pass down my spine at the thought. "But if I can restore the Wind Staff that Nadil has destroyed…"

"Even if he dies, Rath can be resurrected." The lengths to which she was going to protect my son warmed me, though the inevitability of her newest warning stabbed as sharply and as surely as a blade. I smiled wryly, knowing now exactly what she needed of me.

"My mother forged the original Wind Staff." This surprised me, but not completely—an item and creature so powerful, so impossibly magical, seemed apt to have mysterious origins. "If I could find even one piece of the old staff, I'm sure I could create a replacement strong enough."

"And now we come to the real reason for your visit. You want something that belongs to me, don't you? Something I toiled to find and bring into my possession. Surely you must know the danger I went through to make it mine…" Her eyes widened, her lips parted quickly as if she meant to make some plea to me. I cut her off. "You should also know that I would never begrudge anything that might save my son." She smiled, a pure genuine look of relief, and I felt better about the situation just looking at her. "If you would not mind following me?" She set her cup back on the tea tray and stood gracefully, lighter on her feet now without the weight of error on her shoulders.

I don't remember exactly when I discovered Nadil was the Wind Dragon Knight (although one can hardly call him that, as he fought no more for the protection of Dusis than I did). By the time I had figured out the truth, Hayate was already dead—Nadil's survival against Lykouleon's blade seemed to suggest he'd devoured the dragon even before Ruin had possessed Illuser's body. But I know that as soon as I discovered the Demon Lord's dubious origins, I went looking for remnants of power. Curiosity has always been an overly active part of me, and I was not about to allow an immense magic go unresearched. It had taken months of secrecy, bribery, blackmail and outright threats, but I had finally gotten my hands on a fragment of the Wind Staff, perhaps the most powerful magical tool in this world. If what I was led to believe was true, the piece in my possession was the last piece in existence. Nadil had been thorough in his destruction—fortunately, his sneaky and none to loyal minions had been more thorough in their thievery. I had intended to carve it apart and learn its Dragon secrets down to the minutest of details, but then I had gone to meet Rath in the mountains. I could not bring myself, after that, to touch anything of theirs, to think about them…

Together the princess and I departed the drawing room. The morning sun had brightened, and the corridors were awash with pretty golden light. For a few moments we wound our way into the heart of the castle in silence, even our feet failing to make the sound they should have. At last, she sighed, a sad breath that seemed terrible coming from someone with such a gentle heart, and said to me, with a heavy voice,

"I think I must tell you the future. It is only fair that you know, that we try…" She stopped, bit her lower lip, setting her words once again in order. "We can perhaps prevent more mistakes. I think we can save Lord Rath." I nodded solemnly, staring down the dustily-lit hallway with eyes that did not really see. She took a quiet, unsteady breath. "In less than a year's time, the third of the Dragon Knights will join them. The Dragon Lord will reluctantly give them theirfirst realmission: to cut off and collect Nadil's head." That Lykouleon would send them on such a dangerous task so early on shocked me, and I wondered if the man was really in his right mind.

"They will succeed and fail at this mission. It will be Lord Rath who confronts the Demon Lord in the end, and though he will manage to remove Nadil's head, he will unknowingly create an opening for the Demon Lord's survival." Anger, as strong as could appear in such a delicate woman, flashed in her roseate eyes. "Nadil will live on inside Rath, capitalizing on the Knight's ability to hold separate souls inside him. He is going to give his henchmen exact orders for his revival… And when the time comes, he is going to kill Lord Rath." She saw me tense and lifted a light hand to comfort me. "If I can manage to forge a new Wind Staff, if we can secure that future, Blue Dragon Officer Kai-stern and the Dragon Dog Crewger will die in order to restore Lord Rath's life. A glorious gem will resurrect him." She paused, the barest of the frown evident on her face, and then continued.

"Beneath the Dragon Castle is an ancient tomb. Please understand me when I say that I cannot tell you more about this place. It predates your reality—there are secrets imprisoned there that must remain secret."

"I won't ask." But I wanted to, desperately. What secrets? My reality… Why would she choose this place for Rath's revival? I felt there was something important, some _imprisoned secret_ I should have known…

"Over this tomb I will place two guardians.(1) They will keep it safe at my orders. Lord Rath will live again, if I can succeed, but further than that I cannot hope to fathom. We must make sure that the correct future comes to pass…" She looked at me, a gentle solemnity shining in her gaze. "I want Lord Rath and Lord Alchemist to be happy. I want this world to have peace." I valued the sincerity in her plea, and the innocence, but I knew the bitter truth. There could never be peace in this world. Not with Rath so far from me, not while the Demon and Dragon Lords lived… It surprised me to find us suddenly before the laboratory doors, and I wondered how me has managed the long walk so swiftly.

She lingered behind me as I pushed open the heavy set of oak doors. The laboratory lay out before us, orderly from your ministrations, and I brushed through the aisles and tables with more care than normal, hoping not to cause a single mess (and thus maintain my dignity). The room was dark, the air was thick with centuries of magic and death, and suddenly I wished I'd retrieved the piece myself and left her in the warm, bright drawing room. She did not belong here… Yet still, she shone like a star in the darkness. How apt her name seemed in that moment. Her step was softer than mine and only a second behind, making an echo to my feet that sounded almost eerie in the vast room.

Through it had felt like only seconds between the tea room and the laboratory, it seemed to take an eternity to reach the far back wall of the room. At last, I ran my fingers along the rough stone, turning left and searching quietly for the tiny cabinet I knew was there. I found it quickly, snugly ensconced in other shelves. Its dark wood doors were almost overly ornate, carved in miniscule patterns of armies, flowers and –had I never noticed before?– dragons. The irony was laughable. I turned the tarnished gold handle carefully, mindful of its age, and tugged open the doors. Silent as the dead, the fragment of the Wind Staff laid inconspicuously on its carven stand. No part of it betrayed the unstoppable and immense power lurking beneath its jagged and crystalline surface. Despite the lack of light, it seemed to glitter of its own accord—even broken it was beautiful. With steady, light hands I pulled the blue-white shard from its stand. It was uneven, but its many facets were not rough to the touch. I could feel the unrestrained power ringing through my arms, as wild as _Hayate_ suggested.

Then she reached out to take it from me, her gentle angular nails brushing ghost-like against my bare hands. The moment her fingers closed around it, something shattered. Power bloomed violent and massive as a tempest, ripping at the dangling edges of our clothing, lifting her coral locks and tugging them back and forth like invisible and indecisive attendants. She felt it too—her roseate eyes widened, but just as I did not move (could not?) she remained still, her delicate hand brushing both of mine as we clung to the shard. Yet I could feel somewhere, unconsciously, that the pressure of the Wind was not harmful: she and I were ensconced in the heart of the storm, just another part of the power… As if my understanding of its truer nature had unlocked some secret, I felt warmth suddenly course through me, all encompassing and benevolent. There was magic in it, ancient magic in the very air I was breathing, and for a moment it was like being weightless, as unbound as the wind itself.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the power was gone, receding into the fragment and leaving me cold and tussled. The energy in the wind dissolved, and the air in my lungs seemed empty and not enough to sustain me. We were both gasping slightly, to regain the thickness that had seemed more normal than oxygen. Then that feeling too was gone, we were just standing as we had been. Her hair was out of place, but did not look any less beautiful, and somehow during the gusts, half of my Frog clasps had come undone. We looked a mess—but, I was stunned to observe, not a single piece of laboratory equipment was out of place. Not one glass bottle had been broken by the storm of power… A book on the table beside us was still open to the same page as when we'd entered.

With reluctant hands, I released the shard of the Wind Staff and let her take it from me. I felt like I should say something, but could not find any words worth saying. In the silence of the room, I could feel the future changing. What kind of world were we creating, she and I? I was eager and afraid to know.

Outside the laboratory, the sun shined immaculate and hot across the tile, and I was glad for the half shade the open air colonnade provided. She ran a disinterested hand through her hair as we walked. As if our minds were one and the same, we shoved aside thoughts of death, of pain and the imminent future, and talked of lighter things. I remarked on the heat, and I seem to distinctly remember her telling me not to wear green—something about how it made me and my blooming lilac hair look like a walking flower. When I nodded in agreement, making my bangs flutter like jostled petals, she laughed a high and pure note. I was reminded suddenly about how rarely I kept company, how few people I really trusted enough to laugh with like this…

But I don't think I could even go so far as to call her my friend. We were too completely different breeds of life, two sides of the sky, dark and light. For this twilight moment, we were aligned. Would it always be this way? Could we always be allies, aides to each other as we pursued a mutual goal? I did not think such a thing was possible. Selfishness and selflessness cannot be comrades; the sunrise of a new future cannot bind night and day forever. Would we one day have stood on opposite sides? I won't live to find out, and for that I am grateful.

I knew something about her now, something that bated nervously inside me like an anxious bird. I crushed the feeling, tried to hide it. I did not want her to know that during the maelstrom of the Wind Staff's unexplained reaction, I had felt not only Hayate's power, but a part of hers. A little of her heart had been conveyed to me, and the feeling was shocking, because it was familiar. I knew her spirit as if I had felt it everyday of my life. I had—because the power she had unknowingly exposed to me was the power that beat in the heart of the forest outside my castle, the power that crashed in the waves of the sea, so close, the power that rung in the steel of the Arinain King's sword, in his heartbeat… Her soul felt like Arinas. It frustrated me, confused me, but I could not face it, I ignored it. _She has no connection to the Eastern King,_ I promised myself, _She has no ties to this world, no ties to that man… She is too sweet to ever be my enemy,_ I lied.

If she knew what I had seen about her in the darkness of the castle depths, she never said a word. We had wound our way to the main hall again, but I had not guided her there, and I had not even realized that was where we headed. The door she had pushed open in her haste had been left open in order to bring a breeze inside. For a moment we both stood on the threshold of the changing outside world and my shadowed castle. It was awkward to say the least: how could I thank her for what she was doing? How could I ask why someone who felt like power that had long opposed me was suddenly my aide? I was spared all the questions I did not want (and did want) to ask, because another made its way to the fore:

"Is something bothering you Hime-sama?" Even though I had easily surrendered my fraction of the Wind Staff, even though she had what she needed to keep Rath safe, I sensed that some thing still weighed on her. It did not look like pressingly serious, but I could see the barest creasing of her brow.

"It's nothing," she tried to reassure me with a smile. "I was just thinking of my fiancé. He did not want me to come here alone. Sometimes he worries too much." I nodded along, only a little lost.

"Well, he has a right to—Garfakcy can be quite a dangerous guard dog when he puts his mind to it." We both knew this was not what this mysterious "he" had worried about, but she smiled again, and the previous tension in her seemed to have evaporated.

With her free hand, she reached out and clasped my arm. The gentle pressure of her fingers and the warmth of the gesture seemed to say more than any words could have hoped to, and I can not even begin to explain what transpired between us in those few seconds. I could feel her gratitude, I know she could feel mine, but it was more than that. It was the feeling of watching a sunset, the feeling that secret holders get looking at each other. It was a feeling of dread and of comfort, of camaraderie and sadness. It was wordlessly a 'Thank you' and a 'Good-bye'. I watched the quick determined steps that carried her away and increased Rath's chance to live until she vanished into the forest that seemed now more mysterious and other-worldly. It felt as if she had taken away not only the Wind Staff shard, but a part of me as well.

"A-hem?" Your voice, caustic and dark, bubbled up behind me, accompanied by an ominous tapping of your brown boot on the stones. I was almost afraid to turn around and face your wrath. "Just **who** was that?" _Oh dear,_ some little voice in the back of my wailed, _RUN AWAY!_ I wanted very much to obey it, to scuttle off like a crab and hide in a big shell until your anger abated. I'm not a crustacean, no such luck. "I'm waiting…" You ground out, but it didn't sound patient to me at all.

"Heh heh," I laughed sheepishly while searching for a proper story. Instead, some other words leapt up to fill the empty air and crossed my lips before I ever had a chance to think about them. "Garfakcy, what's a 'fiancé'?"

"**What!**" I thought I might have given you a heart attack right then and there. Obviously, my less than opportunely-timed question had only made things worse. "She didn't call you that, did she?.!"

"No…" I offered placatingly. "She said her fiancé didn't want her to come here." You looked at me for a moment, and then slammed your face into your palm.

"Like that's any better!" A glare that could have curdled milk stung me from between your fingers. "A fiancé is a mate, and hers doesn't like you."

"Oh!" I nodded, educated. "It makes sense now." I had about a moment to marvel at how well adapted you were to both the human and demon worlds before you straightened and gathered your wits for another verbal attack.

"What was she here for anyway? How do you know her? She's not a demon and she's not a human so what the hell is she? What did she take? What was so urgent?" There seemed to be no end to the questions, and I felt like I was being interrogated by an angry guardian rather than my housekeeper. With a wary hand I steered you, still firing questions, toward the drawing room. We could hardly let all that excellent food go to waste…

I tried to answer your questions, but I failed on almost all counts—I knew so little about her, and the things I did know I had to keep secret. I could not very well tell you she was a woman from another world hell-bent on protecting my son, who was himself a member of the Dragon Tribe. You would have died of shock, or killed me for keeping such big secrets. For a bare moment, while I munched on a lemon cake, I thought about telling you truth: everything about Rath, about what I had been so desperate to do, about what the Star Princess and I had done. But the desire passed quickly, and I returned again to feeling that telling would cost my dignity, that speaking would weaken something...

"She's called the Heaven's Star Princess, and she's a fortuneteller." If my answers got anymore concrete, I can't remember. But with evasive tidbits like, "She helped me previously and needed me to return the favor today," I know you came out of the interrogation with more questions and almost no knowledge you didn't have going in. Dodging the issue is a skill of mine.

Later that night I turned her words over and over in my head like an hourglass. Numbly I watched the grainy thoughts tumble end over end. Crewger and Kai-stern, the very two who had stood against me that morning the Snowy Mountains… _A beautiful gem… Predates your reality… Nadil will kill Lord Rath…_ I wondered how she could stand knowing everything that was to come—even the vague truths she left me with plagued my mind. How would Rath die? How could a gem resurrect him; why would a Dragongive his lifefor my son? That night, I slept fitfully, waking often to stare out my window and imagine the future, nightmarish as it was going to be.

The short months after her visit I waited on bated breath, watching the Dragon Castle from afar and searching for any sign of her in our world again. I wanted desperately to know if she had succeeded in creating the replacement Wind Staff, if she had seen any further into the future. But as if utterly eclipsed, I could not find a trace of her anywhere in our world—not even when her predictions began to come true.

The rumor, news, came to me slowly from sources completely unaware they were revealing secrets to a youkai. A human boy, intent on stealing the Earth Dragon, Riku, had invaded the Dragon Castle, but instead of waking the dragon with his ministrations, he had ended up possessed by Shydeman in some attempt to kill the Dragon Lord. Clever, if ineffective, Shydeman had clearly underestimated both the strength of human hearts and Lykouleon's readiness to strike down any threat to peace. Whatever battle occurred, somehow the young man had not only survived, but ended up commander of the Earth Dragon, the third of the Dragon Knights.

Though I had been told what was to come, when the knights were dispatched to Kainaldia, I was none the less irked. It seemed a fool's order, sending three little boys to do what a Dragon Lord had failed at. It was obvious to me that Lykouleon was capitalizing on Rath's demon nature: because Hayate's power prevented another Dragon weapon from harming Nadil, the Dragon Lord had sent a warrior capable of wielding a demon's sword, capable of using youki directly to attack. I wonder then if he had any idea what evil he was inviting into my son. I became convinced he knew all along that Rath's soul was different, convinced that he knew what might occur… Did he consciously send my son to serve as a net and damper for Nadil's soul? The large part of me that saw him as a sly enemy believed so.

Regardless, the future she had predicted rolled on without fail. More than once, I wanted to step in. I could have found some way to stop Nadil from infiltrating, I could have found some way to destroy his body or his soul permanently—I could have kept him from killing Rath. But all it took to still my hand was the memory of blood tears on pale cheeks. If I did the wrong thing, changed the wrong thing, I could have ended up ruining all the Star Princess was striving for. I could cause more pain, I could be hurt worse. Perhaps it was cowardly of me; maybe I could have improved the future, saved lives… I was tired of risking maybes. Instead I sat back and allowed Nadil to take a place in my son's soul. If anything could have made the Demon Lord less my comrade, that was it—yet I don't think he ever knew that Rath and I bore relation. He was the sort not to care.

With more than their fair share of difficulties, Rath and his companions (the other of which I had not really been interested in happened to be the Faerie Prince; the irony tickled me to giggles) ended up back in Draqueen. But this was not what really caught my eye at all, because a demon had taken up residence in the castle, and I wanted to know why. Can you imagine my surprise? A little spying in Kainaldia on Right Bird's part revealed her to be defunct from the Demon Army, though that was the least interesting fact he discovered. _We lost Cesia… When Lord Nadil awakens, he will only need Cesia, Shyrendora and I…_

Cesia. Who was she? Why was she necessary, and now in the Dragon Lord's hold? For the first time in several years, curiosity took a firm hold of me. Things were changing, quickly. Pieces were falling on both sides like pawns on a chessboard. Moreover, Right Bird brought news that one among the demons knew Cesia had gone to the Dragons. The very idea of whatever clash might occur between the two eternal opponents made the blood run quicker in my veins. And when the forces of light and darkness finally did meet, I was certainly not disappointed.

The same demon who knew Cesia's whereabouts was also able to evade the Dragon Lord's barrier and slip inside the castle. You were witness to my delight and intrigue, and I know you enjoyed the sudden threat of battle more than I did. I watched the young youkai, Bierrez, struggle through one hasty incursion into the heart of Draqueen. He met with Rath and was driven back—hearing of that entire affair stunned me, and I learned more from it than I ever expected. Cesia was rumored to be under the protection of a Light Dragon amulet—was she, like Rath, harboring a power dangerous to the Dragon Tribe? But what unsettled me was my son's willingness to protect her. Every previous display, every shred of evidence about what he had become since joining the Dragon Tribe seemed to be at odds with his reactions.

Rath hated the demon kind (for more than a few reasons). By all means, one who had lied, cheated, murdered and had the audacity to talk back should have been dead in minutes. No order of Lykouleon's could have stopped Rath had he ever really wanted to kill the girl… If I was forced to admit it, I would say I was instantaneously jealous of her, and only more deeply curious. Precious to the Demon Army, protected by the Dragon Clan, pardoned by my son… She and this upstart young demon were unknowns to me, and it made me all the more determined to cast my hand back into the roiling fire that was Dusis.

I set you on Bierrez's tail almost the very next day, do you remember? You absolutely hated the assignment. There was something about him the boy that set you off, made you surly and unpleasant. I never did find out exactly what it was about him that irked you, but I always imagined it was his expressions… The simple way he managed to express things so clearly, the waythat neither of us could. But maybe that was only my imagination; maybe you had other reasons to find him an irritating presence…

After his first tentative steps into the castle, Bierrez was far more careful. You don't even have to imagine how gleeful I was to discover he was not only clever but ruthless—he used the Demon Bible (resourceful little youkai, to actually have gotten his hands on a copy) to create drones from his poisoned blood. Without a second thought, he sent them in with every intention to kill. The single-mindedness of his pursuit drew me to him, and I recognized immediately that he could not have been working under the orders of Nadil's lackeys, who would never have allowed such a reckless strike. The thought that he was operating freely and had a power I had only dreamed of made me want to meet him… Made me want to manipulate him to my own ends.

Watching with your eyes through a crystal, I saw Rath and the orange-haired rouge clash again. Instantly I knew something was wrong. Though they both fought eagerly, there were too many words I could not hear passed between them. The grim look on Rath's face did not match his normally excited battle countenance—moreover, he did not hesitate to use his ice magic, something he never did where others might see him. I felt as if, with all the mysteries I had yet to unravel, there was too much I did not know, too much happening that I could not see. It made me feel weak, which I loathe, and I knew I had to bring the situation under my control. The air, though I could not directly feel it, was alive with a wild and churning magic around both the younger boys, and I was reminded suddenly, strangely, of Hayate—but then this too was gone, and the rain began to fall. It seemed sourceless, dangerous but also pure. Rath and Bierrez fought on as if the evening sky had never been clouded over at all, knocking each other back mercilessly and foolishly.

At my orders, you primly interrupted the battle and ripped Bierrez away just when it seemed Rath would land a finishing blow. That was your first face to face glimpse of my son. What did you think of him? I will never know now—we never truly spoke of him. I could never bear to tell you the truth, could never find a way. Did you hate him, did you ever suspect? You're so much more intuitive than you like to show… Perhaps, like me, you've been keeping secrets for years.

I have the habit of profiling people on first meeting, discerning their baser natures within a few minutes and filing this away. Normally I find it eerily easy to read others, which is why it irritated me so much when, upon first meeting him, I could not see through Bierrez. In all aspects, I underestimated him. Dripping wet, you tossed him down in the middle ofmy darkened, vacant parlor. Through the crystal he had not seemed as young as he really was. He could not possibly be a fraction of my age, and this was probably an understatement. If he was evenfifteen years older than Rath, who had undergone forced aging, I would have been shocked.

Instead of the hardened and stable warrior I'd expected, the youkai who faced me was a child with powers he didn't fully understand and a desperate wish that was bound to get him killed. By your standards, Bierrez was a little brat with more words than strength to back them up—but I saw something else. Here was a demon brave enough to ignore the orders of youkai more than physically his superiors, bold enough to waltz right into the nest of his enemy, and foolish enough to bend to my every whim. That he had blatantly disregarded Shydeman's plans showed a degree of independence I would never have predicted… and told me that his goal to retrieve Cesia from the Dragon Tribe had nothing to do with Nadil's need of her. Bierrez was working only under the ministrations of his own emotions, and for a moment, I pitied him. Like me, this youkai, not even old enough to be more than a boy, knew how to feel guilt, grief, and love.

The feeling was not enough to make me regret my decision. I was going to mold Bierrez into my puppet and set him back on his task with all the appearance of acting as a benevolent outsider. If he succeeding in removing Cesia from the Dragon Castle, I would simply force a possession and have him bring her right to me. The chances that he might survive another encounter with Rath were slim, but I thought if he posed a great enough distraction, I could do nothing but benefit from the situation: the Dragon Tribe had more than one thing I wanted.

Wary green eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, focusing on me for the first time.

"Welcome. My sincerest apologies for dragging you out here."

"Who are you?" He brushed dripping tangerine bangs from his forehead, and the strange water rolled off of him and puddled on the tile. From where you rested on the windowsill behind me, I could almost feel indignation (on behalf of the floor) darkening the air.

"I am Kharl, the alchemist." Right Bird bated to a place on my shoulder, voicing his dislike of the stranger in my ear. "I've made a modest life for myself dabbling in things demonic. Surely you've heard of me?"

"You wrote the Demon's Bible." The wariness I had first sensed in him had just, to my amusement, grown. He crossed his arms defensively around himself and I found it a wonder he didn't draw his weapon then and there—naturally he was not naïve enough to think me harmless.

"Ah, did you find it useful?" I could not hold back a knowing smile, "Or at the very least, compelling?" If his eyes could have narrowed further, they would have looked like a fox's slit-eyed stare. He answered my question with a derisive 'Hmph!' inching almost subconsciously against the mantle.

"Why did you bring me here?" I could feel his nervousness at the situation: like any animal, he could feel the pressure of a cage falling down around him. I had to remind myself not to push him too far and risk a bite. Despite this, the fact that he was tensed and ready to run at any moment (trying to hide it made it all the more apparent) tickled me, and I took a few playful steps forward, not quite able to ignore the opportunity to frighten a weaker demon. He was well within my territory, knew it and disliked it.

"You are the only youkai capable of entering the Dragon Castle." Fun had, I aimed to placate his surliness with a bit of supplication—if he realized he had powers I did not, he would feel safer. Believing I needed him alive, he would be far more likely to accept my aide. He would make himself much easier to manipulate.

"Am I?" He queried, not at all ready to hold a civil conversation with me. I wondered suddenly what strange rumors he might have heard about the Alchemist in his hidden castle… "Your spooky little tree stump over there seemed to get through easily enough." Spooky little tree stump? I thought the nickname was quite cute, but even without turning I could feel you bristle like a cornered cat. I half expected you to scold him with a well-placed blow over the head and a 'Respect your elders!' but you surprised me.

"I'm a human, not a youkai." For you to admit this to someone who clearly already held you in disdain was surprising—though, I thought again, perhaps not. The fact he had failed to identify something that should have been starkly obvious from your ki made him look less sufficient than you, ningen that you were.

"A human, using magic?" Like every demon you had met, there was the typical disbelief. But a thorough explanation was not in order, and as much as I enjoyed talking about my accomplishments, there were things to be done that were far more important.

"Garfakcy uses magical ashes that I've created. He works for me." With a blunt summary and a chipper smile that was probably more cold than bright, I told Bierrez wordlessly to forget the subject.

"So what's the famous Alchemist Kharl doing these days? Your reputation precedes you, a Master of the Macabre, so to speak." Master of the Macabre? Bierrez was simply full of apt names, and I jokingly thought of suggesting he become a writer. With a hand that was strangely pale, he brushed the last of the water from his two tone hair. A plausible answer to his question came easily across my lips.

"They were beautiful once, but Left Bird died, and Right Bird is not as adept at sculpting their brains. It has forced me into an early retirement." I avoided speaking of Rath for more reasons than the obvious one. Perhaps I had convinced myself that if no one knew, if I could forget, it would not really have happened—Left Bird would simply have died, not been killed, Rath would not have reason to hate me, the Star Princess would not need a tool to undo Rath's now imminent death… More still, it had not been Left Bird's death that had ceased my creation of demons: I had more than enough power and Demon Seed to make another ten legions. Rather, after Rath there seemed no longer to be any point in making them. I could create nothing more beautiful, nothing more powerful. Yet what business of that was Bierrez's? I left him with the vague lie, knowing he would swallow it.

"However, your emerging onto the scene has given me renewed inspiration." Nursing an almost predatory stare, I focused all my sharp attention on the young intruder. It unsettled him, and I could sense a momentary confusion. This he shoved aside in favor of exasperation, and leaning on the mantle in mock nonchalance, gave an impatient sigh that suited his excitable nature. I was reminded suddenly of Rath, and the feeling stunned me. Were they alike? Yes, in a way—both young and foolish, rouges on opposite sides, even squabbling like brothers over a toy that seemed to dislike them both… But this thought only encouraged me to manipulate Bierrez. I suppose I have become a biased father, one certainly not above giving my son an unfair advantage. And I have always been a man most definitely not above cheating to improve my own position.

"You brought me here to be an audience for your 'renewed inspiration'?"

"No." I answered with a smile that did not betray the truth. I had brought him there to _become_ my inspiration. "You wish to recover a demon named Cesia, a young girl of particular interest to Nadil and his malodorous hordes… Don't you?" He tensed, and I wondered if it was because I knew more about him than he about me, or if it was because I knew of Cesia, the youkai other demons seemed to be tripping over themselves to protect. His fingers twitched as if any moment he might summon a weapon and demand to know what I wanted with he and Cesia. You sensed it too, and as if you had never had to reach for them, the ash shifted threateningly in your hand. I smiled again, anticipation bubbling inside me. Finally some way to involve myself without endangering Rath's future, a way to benefit myself and limit the power of the Dragon Lord. "I'm sorry you're having trouble Bierrez. Would you like my help?"

I didn't know then what I had started, was about to start. I worked around a set of vague predictions, tried to intervene in matters I thought free of Rath's fate… Maybe I should have realized that everything in this world seems tied to Rath. Maybe I should have seen how selfish I was being. But at that time, the only things in my head were the visions of renewed power, new topics of research, new ways to protect and be near Rath. It was like being reawakened, like regaining feeling after paralysis. Every part of my mind tingled with raw potential. And it would all be so sickeningly easy… Bit it had to begin with Bierrez and a good portion of everything I wanted to do rested on his willingly subjecting himself to my "aide".

There was really no question in my mind whether or not he would agree or not—in the world of demons I had made my name so well known and kept my powers secret enough to become the stuff of horror stories, rumors and books written by people who never have and never will meet me. Even seeing me, though Bierrez would never have showed it, is something mo youkai of his stature would ever have expected (or wanted)—I wondered briefly again what exactly he thought of me and looking into his guarded and brash eyes, I could come to no solid conclusion. More than once since our meeting began I had felt the natural defensive fear from him, but I could also see direct disregard as if he thought he could say just through his gestures that he didn't care in the slightest about me. Still, there was under all this a deep intrigue. As a reader of the Demon Bible, he surely had to wonder about not only my powers but what sort of man could deal so heartlessly with souls.

Perhaps in the end the only question was whether he would trust me enough to go after Cesia directly without checking what I had done to him first. If he hesitated and discovered the poison I would fill him with, I would gain nothing. I would have to make sure there was no reason for him to doubt me. I listened to his tread as we brushed down the darkened hallways toward the laboratory—where my steps were silent his were defiantly loud, ringing on the marble and echoing through the high-ceiling corridors like heralds to his approach. It seemed as if he intended to do everything exactly the way he wanted to, without a care for anyone's expectations. His stubborn attitude was amusing and familiar, and I got the sudden impression that just as he was like Rath, Bierrez was also like me: fixated on a single thing and undoubtedly selfish in all other aspects.

I purposely left the lamps unlit in the laboratory, and the immense room remained seeped in darkness even the waning moon, shining through a dusty window, could not hope to brighten. If this made the younger demon uncomfortable, he said nothing. Weaving through the tables with practiced ease, I led Bierrez to a free corner, full of just the things I would need. Impatiently, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, until finally I reached out and snatched one of his folded arms. I had noticed it earlier but thought nothing of it—now, with a sudden memory, the hand intrigued me. The skin tone was not right. Bierrez had peach skin erring on the side of tan; the hand just free of his right sleeve was paler, more delicate, a distinct contrast.

"Your arm… It's not yours. You've attached someone else's to replace your own."

"A monster," his eyes were dark with fear and hate, "A monster… Ice Illuser… _Rath_ cut mine off a long time ago." He stared at me, daring me to refute his claims. _A monster…_

"I've heard of that creature." I could not say more than that, could not bring myself to correct his opinion. "I heard the Dragon Lord killed it. But he really ended up taking it in, didn't he?"

"_What was the Dragon Lord thinking?_ He actually took in that horrible monster and made it Dragon Knight!" His voice trembled with what sounded like betrayal, and for a moment I could not bear to meet his eyes. He was afraid of Rath, what he knew Rath to be, and could not understand that souls are capable of changing. The fact that his fear was so real, not simply instinctive but an actual terror, sent a twinge of bitterness through me. Rath was not a monster… was not supposed to be a monster. A wan smile crept across my lips as I regretted every strange coincidence that had brought us to that point.

"He… wasn't always that way..."

"What?" He stared at me with eyes that were bright with confusion and intrigue. I did nothing but let him digest the words in silence. Let him make of them what he will… When I thought he might ask again, I cut him off with an intentional tug on the arm that was not his. A pointed, sharp stare forced him to swallow his questions and answer the one I had not bothered to speak. _Who…_

"A good friend sacrificed his life to give me this." Then I was correct—this boy was the second source of blood I had smelt the night I'd chased Ruin to Nadil's castle. That was how he was able to pierce the barrier: he had gone after Illuser's body, and when Rath had attacked him, he had become infected by the Dragon Lord's blood. How had he survived that? By all means, once the blood got into his system, he should have burned from the inside out. Yet there he stood before me, functioning not only with his own body but with another demon's limb. I considered for a moment telling him that I had met his 'good friend', and that the strangely mangled demon had still been alive, but decided against it. The singleness of Bierrez's thoughts was integral to my plan.

As if suddenly realizing I had a firm grip on his weapon hand, he shuddered and drew back none too gently from my gloved grip. I almost laughed.

"Well Bierrez, shall we tip the scales now?" Instantly all traces of the false relaxation, frustration and confusion he had previously exhibited were drowned out by wariness and a subtle anticipation. With a disinterested hand I gestured for him to sit on one of the long stone tables at our sides. I did not feel the need to tell him that most things that laid there died, and he did not the feel to ask me about the long swath of red across its surface, though I saw him eye it with suspicion.

"What are you going to do?" The hand that was his own clenched defensively.

"I'll only make you stronger," I grinned the vulture-like smile that always puts people on edge, "Why don't you just go to sleep?" The ash, laden with anesthetics struck his system with blunt force of a brick wall. It took perhaps half a second for him to sway and crumble, another half for consciousness to fail him entirely. There was no chance to question my actions.

It was a simple thing to turn Bierrez into my puppet. It was made even easier by the arm he bore—it belonged to a demon capable of surviving almost utter mutilation, a power anyone would have enjoyed having. A series of tiny incisions, the correct amounts of poison and Demon Seed, enough chemical buffer to insure his blood (difficult and rare as it was to work with) would adapt to the toxins… It was a matter of an hour at most, ending with a set of neat and measured stitches that would pointless by the end of the night. He slept as if dead, his chest barely rising and falling. I left him, artfully arranged like a body in a coffin, and when I shut the thick stone door behind me, I locked it. It wasn't necessary for me to do so: I could have kept Bierrez asleep for months with just a little more ash than what I'd used on him—nevertheless, overconfidence had been my downfall more than once. Bierrez would need at least two of three days to adjust to the poison, and this timing could not fit more perfectly into my plan.

As if you knew all my movements, you met me just down the hall, an inquisitive look in those angled jade eyes. Even without your asking, I knew you were curious as to what had become of the orange-haired intruder.

"Sleeping off the effects of invasive surgery." I smiled as wandered back up through the castle corridors. I lit candles as went, casting off the gloom I'd used to unsettle Bierrez. Similar to me, you walked silently, and we passed like a ghost and his slender shadow into the warmer halls of the high castle. "In a few days, you will go with him to the Dragon Castle. While he attempts to destroy the Dragon Knight of Fire, you are to penetrate their defenses and retrieve for me Nadil's Head, which they have spirited away, and which is far too valuable a power to leave in the hands of our enemies." You stared up at me with steady and obedient eyes, as if you would not be risking death entering the Dragon stronghold and stealing their most protected hoard.

"Of course Master Kharl." You smiled, obviously excited to have something to do for me again. For a few moments I walked on in silence, turning the many plans over and over in my mind. Outside, a strong night wind rustled the trees and sent thin clouds dancing in front of and away from the moon.

"We've… We've been without Left Bird for a long time now." I watched the misty moon follow us through the stone columns. Beside me, I felt more than saw your slow nod. As with all forms of work, you had developed quite a love of caring for the birds, and it had been a blow to you as well he died. _I think it is time to restore what has been lost…_

I knew it was wrong, cruel, I knew before I ever began—but I did not care. It was part of my grander scheme, part of something I _had_ to do. My heart beat feverishly, thinking of the future to come. And I thought it was only fair, honestly, I did. Left Bird had been stolen from me, Rath had been stolen from me—it was restitution, not massacre.

"Garfakcy, ready yourself and go to the Faerie Forest."

"Faerie Forest?" You skipped a pace and stared in blank confusion.

"Yes," I looked solemnly into your gaze, impressing the importance of the order. "I need you to bring them to me. Capture them and bring them to me—every last one."

"I'll go—"

"Don't kill them, bring them alive. I need their souls, do you understand?" You drooped like a dying flower at the knowledge there would be no grand bloodshed, but nodded nevertheless.

"Yes Master Kharl. I'll go now." You took a half step back, and with a snap of your fingers, disappeared in a swirl of ash that drifted white and grey through the barely lit air. That night, I dreamed of magic and bloodshed, of Rath, Bierrez and Left Bird. I dreamed of the faeries whose souls I would harvest, of the mangle of untransformed flesh in its glass prison below, waiting for their power… I dreamed of the creature such an unholy mixture would produce—of amethyst eyes I had seen into in the Snowy Mountains, of the power to govern spirits, of snow and of ice…

Both you and Bierrez lived up to my exact expectations: like a Death God of legend, you reaped the faeries for me with merciless efficiency, leaving no crevice of their forests unscathed. The destruction had not been part of my orders, but I cannot say I had not expected it. It was the speed which stunned me. You ripped through their ranks so quickly it was as if they were sheep lining up to be slaughtered.

Bierrez awoke exactly two full days later, a few hours earlier than I'd anticipated, and he awoke with such an eagerness for battle that it was a chore to hold him back. He did not want to wait for dark to fall, and he most certainly did not want to wait for you to return and accompany him. I bought a while with the excuse that I needed to assure his arm was functioning correctly, but by the time I had performed the routine check-up thrice over (forward, backward, and out of order) he was beginning to suspect. Just when I was certain he was thinking about beating me over the head and making a run for his rendezvous with Rath, you wandered up the stairs, dusting ash off your hands.

"A big one and three little ones just now." You had obviously been down in the dudgeon where we were already growing the demon that would assume Left Bird's place.

"Garfakcy, our guest is more than ready to continue what we so rudely interrupted. Would you be so kind as to take him where he needs to be?" The real message was 'You follow him to the Dragon Castle now and use his attack as a rouse for your real goal.' I could feel Bierrez become jittery with excitement and fear. You nodded, and underhandedly, I gave you both the Waking Kernels, and the orders that you were to set the entire castle under a sleep spell—it would not be of any use to me if you were captured by an insomniatic Dragon Officer lucky enough to stroll by Nadil's head.

Without so much as word, you vanished with the younger demon to do what, at the time, seemed like one of the most dangerous orders I had ever given you. Perhaps there was for a moment a flare of the old bitterness—you, a human, and some upstart demon too young to have left the nest could both do what I could not, could both go where I could not. For all the Dragon Lord's protective power, you could have walked right up and touched Rath… while I, his father, could do nothing but watch jealousy from afar. It was this feeling that caused the mission to go array, that caused Bierrez's death…

Forced to wait behind, I had to satisfy my curiosity by watching through the crystal and through you. After so many years together, it was simpler than breathing to hear your thoughts, and to let you hear mine. With deliberate silence you dropped Bierrez atop the castle. Below you both the castle grounds were lifeless, far to quiet for a tribe of people who should have been on their guard. For a moment, I was uneasy, but with expert care you cast the spell. I watched the ash fall like centuries of dust over the spires and walls, snow-like when illuminated by windows open to the night air. As if collectively, I imagined all the Dragons falling into slumber.

You handed Bierrez one of the kernels of antidote—it struck me as strange, until I realized that you did not know Rath was a demon. For you, he was just another of the pesky Dragons, albeit with a homicidal obsession to rival your own. Bierrez knew what you did not, and severely insulted, crushed the antidote under his foot. There was always in him some air of honor that did not suit a youkai: any other demon in his place would have leapt at the chance to kill their opponent off his guard. Perhaps I should have realized from all this (that his blood could handle an infection of Light, that he could love, that he was so chivalrous) that he was not normal demon—but it never occurred to me that all along he had been a Dragon. It never occurred to me that one could be both…

With a last few words you left him. You told him that we needed him to return safely in order to gather information, but this was an intentional lie. You knew that if I had given you orders contrary to his, he was no part of our little team. The chance that Bierrez would live through this encounter was extremely slim, and I could see that knowledge smoldering in the last smirk you sent him. I split my conscious to watch you both dashing in opposite directions. Bierrez summoned his glaive and rushed, with typical brashness, toward Rath's ki, which was also moving further from the main part of the castle. Unlike the younger demon, you moved with measure experience, sliding in and out of the shadows like a hunting cat. Dragon Fighters who had previous kept themselves well hidden littered the halls, dreaming uneasily. When one face jostled my memory, I called for you to stop.

'_Garfakcy, wake up the one on your left.'_ Dragon Officer Ruwalk lay among his Fighters like a napping child. '_Ask him if…'_ Weakened by the spell, he was easy prey once awoken. Watching you torture a reply out of the man was like watching a kitten killing an overgrown rat—it did not seem the correct order of things; with you, there is really no correct order. If the question or the answer confused you, you said nothing.

'_Is that what you wanted to hear Master Kharl?'_ The answer Saffron Officer had spat out was both what I had and had not expected, and I mulled over the words for a few moments. _There is nothing we can do…_

'_Sweet dreams Ruwalk.'_ I heard you mutter. _Lord Lykouleon is trying…_ Determined now, you turned away from your bleeding victim and back to the original task.

'_Nadil's head will be very deep inside the castle, far from places liable to incursion. Search for the highest concentration of Dragon Magic—they will be guarding it to the best of their ability.'_ You nodded visibly and wandered off again, ash weapon in your hand now too as if any moment some enemy immune to my magic might assault you in the darkness of the hallways.

Simultaneous to your attacking Ruwalk, Bierrez and Rath met in an empty darkened room that appeared to be unused—Rath, contrary to whatever excuse he gave Bierrez, was very conscious of his own dangerous power, and more conscious still of the fact that very few knew he was not naturally a Dragon. My son took the battle away from others to protect himself as much as to protect them. Without your being there, it was difficult to directly hear there words. I could have performed a stronger magic, but it would have been noticed… Impatience burned at me, but there was little I could do. Rath drew both the Imperial Dragon Sword(2) and the dark unrestrained fire his Dragon Knight rank provided him. Bierrez had already had his weapon ready, but I could see him begin to exert ki on the arm I had manipulated.

With typical boldness Bierrez did not wait to wear Rath down but called on the paralyzing agent immediately. The force of the power destroyed the window and dropped Rath to his knees among the dusty glass. Like a hungrier spectator than I, the heavy moon peaked through and bathed the room with clearer light. Another part of my mind watched you rip aside a tapestry hiding the deepest set of stairs you had come across yet. A cobweb danced across your cheek but you ignored it with a single-minded determination that I could never have hoped to emulate. Bierrez leveled his glaive, ready to strike a blow fueled half by rage and half by obsession, protection, love of the mysterious demon Cesia… You reached a set of doors so deep within the fortress that mist from the heated water of the underground pipes drifted openly through the hall. Through you I could feel the weighted power of magic thickening the air. Nadil's head was most assuredly just behind those doors…

A tiny intruder slammed through the window, spreading himself between Rath and Bierrez, and for a moment, I could not help being stunned. Another demon inside the castle? That I had not before noticed his presence seemed impossible. He was small yes, but with a face one could not forget—there was something eerily familiar about his purple-red eyes (so like wine in color), and about the ivory white horn nestled in his hair…

'_Stand down!'_ I could hear his voice stunningly clearly through the crystal, and though I knew I had never seen him before, it felt as if I had known the child demon forever. '_I won't let you kill Rath.'_ Bierrez stared for a moment, utterly taken aback. '_As long as I'm here, I won't allow you to harm Rath or Cesia!'_ So he also had something to do with the shadowy woman…

'_Protected by a battery of Dragon Officer spells, na? Could be tough.'_ The ash spilled around, knowing and obedient to you as ever. '_But the Red Officer's spell is missing, so I'll start there.'_ The sharp ring of steel being raised started both of us, and then I heard unlike any of the others I had heard that night.

'_So you want to steal Nadil's head.'_ It was delightfully cold and warm, harsh but also young, and the condescendence inside suited the woman wielding it more than anything. How can anyone hope to properly describe Cesia? She is at once striking, beautiful and magnetic in the way a hurricane draws Storm-chasers. The confidence in her movements and voice fit perfectly with the power I could feel rippling beneath her gentle frame—I was instantly and sharply reminded of another woman who was so much alike and unlike the dark-haired demon standing in your way. What was it about her? What in her wide golden eyes, what in her rose-lipped smirk inspired the utter devotion that drove Bierrez and the strange child youkai… What was it about her that could make an almost-gentleman of the murderer my son had become?

Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registered that Rath was shaking off the poison (slower than I'd expected, yet he proved immune nonetheless), but this could barely hold my interest—like so many other youkai, I had had attention stolen completely by the girl who is as much a part of the future of this world as Rath.

'_The Dragon Tribe is short-sighted. They shouldn't lock Nadil's head away—they should put it to use. Don't you agree? The possibilities are limitless, Youkai-hime.'_ The ease with which you spoke and the name you chose to call her stunned me. Had you also sensed some inexplicable similarity between the fragile fortuneteller who had my deepest respect and the steel-sharp youkai threatening your life? Had she somehow gained your favor, tamed your temper as she had tamed more violent men? I watched Bierrez breakdown into shocked laughter at the intruder demon from one eye and saw you with the other. I watched the Dragon Amulet drift like a pendulum around her neck. Your conversation was of little importance to the direct situation, but both what you offered her and her reaction amused me. You claimed my ultimate goal was to revive Nadil, something we both knew was a bold-faced lie.

Though I had not told you why I wanted to retrieve the head from Dragon claws, you of anyone knew that on matters concerning the Demon Lord, I had decided to resolutely maintain my own side, and whether my aims aided or hindered him was of no interest to me. That he was dead made quite a few things easier for us, and knowing what I did about the future, I would never have made a move to revive him. Nonetheless, it was a clever lie: if one thing can snare a normal youkai's attention, it is an open offer of power. Being directly involved with the Demon Lord's resurrection was a promise few demons would have passed up. Apparently, you had felt my interest in the girl clearly enough to want to bring her over to our side.

But when she gave her biting replies, we both learned that Cesia was really no average demon.

'_The fact that I'm a youkai doesn't matter in the slightest. I hate Nadil! I'm glad there's nothing left of him but his rotting head!'_

_Is she hiding something?_ You voiced the very thought that had been fluttering in my head. Something about her righteous anger did not ring true with the light-hearted way you had offered. More still, that she hated Nadil and was hiding in the Dragon Castle intrigued me. Lykouleon would not have taken her in for no reason—whether she was going to be of use to him or had been of use to Nadil, I wanted to know. And then she said something that grated on your nerves so much that I could feel it distinctly through our connection.

'_You're a human siding with Nadil.'_ You were sorely affronted, and if I had not intervened, you might have shouted right then and there who you really owed your allegiance to.

'_Garfakcy, restraint is exceedingly important in this situation. Let her think what she wants.'_ I heard your indignant 'Hpmh!' that had nothing to do with Cesia ordering you out, and could not help but smile. With all the blatant disregard that is so much a part of you, you told Cesia that if she wanted you gone, she would have to remove you herself—but when she took you up on that offer, I was a little startled. You drew the ash weapon speedily to block the blow she had meant to strike you over the head. But my attention was split again, because Rath was stumbling to his feet, common place murderous smirk back in place. The scorpions lay burnt around him.

I wasn't even aware Cesia had pushed you up the stairs and into the open corridors until the tempest of ki engulfed the castle—it was such a raw, immense power that it momentarily stole my breath away, even sitting so very far away. If there was no mistake, if this power truly was Cesia's… I was watching you battle a demon with more untapped potential than Nadil and I put together. Her wind –wind, could things have been more convoluted and ironic?– ripped through the trees, through your ash, through the shattered window where Bierrez, Rath and younger demon stood tensely. All three of jerked in recognition, turning to stare out over the gardens where you were holding Cesia's miraculous power barely at bay. Single-handedly, she was able to strike at your with pure energy, and if not for the absorbent powers of the ash, you would surely have died. She was inexperienced, could not even keep her own feet on the ground for all the wind flowing through her. It was this and this alone that made it possible for you to hold your own against her.

'_Her strength… It surpasses that of a normal youkai! Such strange power…'_ I sent a Transmission Feather for you to bear, and answered you observation with my own desperate curiosity.

'_That's why she's Nadil's favorite Garfakcy.'_ This strength, the sheer destructive capability she possessed… Had she remained in Nadil's hold, she would have made him a perfect weapon, a tool decidedly strong enough to crush the Dragon Tribe… And in Lykouleon's hands? Would she prove capable of destroying demons with that other-worldly energy? I did not doubt it. Cesia was only more infinitely curious to me with each passing moment. '_Aren't you the least bit curious? Don't you want to learn the secret behind this phenomenal power of hers? Nadil hid her with good reason, no?'_

'_Master Kharl!'_ You used the word to voice your confusion at my query. What exactly did I want you to do, you asked me with just my name.

'_She's the one we need. Bring her to me, dead or alive. I can always revive her.'_ Just as simply as that, you gave up your previous grave mission for another—it was not that I did not want Nadil's head any longer, by all means if I could have taken Nadil's power as far from Rath as possible I would have leapt on the chance. It was simply that Cesia was too great a power to pass up. Leaving her in the Dragon Lord's thieving hands was as dangerous us to our fate as leaving in her Nadil's. Bierrez, Rath and the tiny dark-haired demon raced down the hall, side by side. If I had not known they were enemies I would have sword they were some elite guard of Dragons, rushing off to save the damsel in distress. '_Let the Dragon Knight tear Bierrez apart.'_ I chuckled knowingly. If you could remove Cesia from the castle, Rath would have no reason not to destroy Bierrez. The thought of either of them coming to chase after you… The opposite prospects thrilled me.

'_I can kill her, na?'_ You shifted again, taking to your feet unsteadily, the only sign that battle against her had shaken you. '_I'll do it!'_ With nimble fingers, you tossed a Death Seed at her with unfailing accuracy—but it was not pale skin or cloth is struck. Snowy white fur flashed before my eyes, and instantly bile-like fear rose in my throat. Crewger! Cradling his dying form, Cesia fell to her knees. Ash and magic stained his fur, and his amethyst eyes flickered weakly. The air grew cold, and every strand of my hair stood on end in the escaping energy of his soul. For a moment they sat together, as if speaking, and then the dog's majestic white head fell onto her knees, and his eyes closed forever.

Rath's savior was dead, on my orders. Dead, when I had determined I would do nothing to endanger the future… I held my tongue and thoughts tightly, could not let you know that my grief was almost as strong as Cesia's… Tears rose in her eyes and spilled over like wavering crystals. I think you must have felt it, must have in some way sensed the sudden discord from me. Was it my fault it had happened; how could I have known?

I stopped for the barest of moments to breathe. Crewger was dead—but this did not mean I had caused damage to Rath's fate permanently: Illuser had also been dead when he began to serve as Rath's body. If Crewger's physical form could be protected, Rath would still be safe. Nevertheless, guilt pounded in my temples. It seemed that I could do nothing right… Yet to call you back now was unthinkable, not when I had worked so hard to put all of the pieces in the correct places. If I could still remove Cesia from the Dragon Castle, I would at least feel justified, at least feel as if I had not made another blind flight into failure…

'_The orders stand Garfakcy. Bring Cesia to me.'_ As if you had never paused, you struck out silently with the ash magic, preparing a transport spell while she mourned the loss of Rath's companion. Better still for me—Crewger was wrapped in her arms, and if they could both be brought, I could easily protect the body, or even resurrect him. Before the spell was completed, she rounded on you with a scalding tirade that could have curdled milk, and an even more furious glare, demanding to know your true aims.

'_My Master Kharl the Alchemist, wants you_ dead _or alive Hime. You should feel honored.'_ No one but you would have suggested a person ought to feel honored to meet me. Regardless of your words, Cesia fought valiantly against the ash magic. It was a failing battle, and for a moment, barest moment, I thought that I had been victorious, that soon both Rath's newest body and Nadil's little treasure would be mine… But because I had been so focused on your actions, I had failed to keep Bierrez and Rath in my sights, and proving the twice the distraction she should have been, the orange-haired rouge forced his weapon between you and Cesia. Concentration broken, the spell fell to pieces. Inside its reaches, the youkai princess wavered once, golden eyes finding Rath with desperation that I could not understand. While you confronted Bierrez on his failure to incapacitate his opponent, she leapt unsurely to her feet and, still crying pearly clear tears that reminded me all too much of another woman, called to my son in a voice that did not suit the reluctant acquaintance role they both played.

'_Rath! Oh Rath!'_ Unlike hers, his voice was almost impossible for me to hear—a testament to not only the blood that differed between us but the walls he had built around his heart.

'_It's okay… I knew… It's my fault.'_ His eyes were riddled with pain that could not reach his voice, and guilt pressed on me again. Rath had loved Crewger. It was just one pain I had caused him, one more thing lost… And he blamed himself, when the fault really laid with me. I longed suddenly to beg him to forgive me, to be there myself.

'_Well Bierrez, were you able to work out your differences with the object of your scorn? Or did Rath beat you?'_ I could hear the sneer in your voice as you cut short Cesia's whimpering.

'_I'll kill_ Rath _later. Now, I want to know what_ you _want with Cesia.'_ He leveled his weapon again, a clear threat to you whom he had considered (hesitantly) an aide only half and hour ago. As if completely calm facing an overly eager demon and a notoriously homicidal Dragon Knight, you patiently pulled the Transmission Feather I had given you from your jacket and activated the spell.

'_Master Kharl…'_ Free to work on the same plane as the rest of you, I could see the smile spread onto your face, "Has changed his mind."

"Kharl!" Bierrez shouted rudely, ignoring all means of respect.(3) Rath only tightened his position before Cesia, arm thrown out to protect her. From the look on his face, I could see he could remember me—and it was no positive memory that put that fear and fury in his crimson gaze. Bierrez took several steps toward us, ready to strike at whatever he could reach. The vanity of the effort amused me.

"_You can't stop me, I control you Bierrez."_ Single-handedly, I triggered the spells I'd woven into his arm. It contorted, twitched of it own accord and bubbled up with power and poison. He screamed raw and desperately at the sudden pain that coursed through him. "_I've riddled your arm with so much poison and Demon Seed you are now mine, mind, body, and soul."_ He curled in on himself, clutching the mutating limb in an ineffective attempt to blunt the agony. _Kill Cesia!_ The words struck his mind, struck every nerve in his body with an electric shock that set every synapse in his brain to violently reacting. The toxins and spells in his arms hurried to obey my orders. As if anticipating his movements, you paralyzed Rath again to prevent his involvement. It would not last long, not with his body already growing immunity.

"Bierrez don't!" I could hear Rath's shout more clearly than before, but was more determined—I could bring under my control, could prevent Lykouleon from gaining another weapon to use against me… Against his will, the borrowed hand ripped outward and crushed her throat in a stone-like grip. She choked instantly, blood pooling and trapped her in cheeks. The Dragon Amulet burnt to life, ripping apart the jagged flesh of his limb. Blood ran freely through the fingers and across her dress, but as I had predicted, the arm retained its incredible power: even as it began to crumble under the corrosive Light, it still functioned. Just like the demon who had offered it to Bierrez, who had been ripped apart by Illuser, by Ruin…

"Bierrez, let her go! Bierrez, that's Cesia!" The tiny demon yelled as forcefully as his lungs could manage, pleading because he knew he did not have the strength to stop my puppet. The familiarity of that voice…

"It's no use, Master Kharl controls him now." You grinned condescendingly from where you had retired to watch the events. He ignored you utterly and continued to beg.

"You're going to _kill_ Cesia! That's Cesia!" For a moment Bierrez continued to crush the breath from her, and then, with shuddering, bare movements, he pulled his hand back. Deftly, he dug his own claws into the rotting limb and slammed it against the cobblestone pavement beneath them all.

"He let her go? That's impossible!" You voiced the very words I had been thinking. How could he have disobeyed my order? How could I have failed to manipulate his perfectly? I had not made a mistake, I knew I had not…

"Rath… You must… Kill me." Bierrez panted the words pain and magic would not let him freely say. "I'm becoming a monster. A monster like me should die." Rath gave a curt nod, all the coldness of a murderer slipping into his eyes. "But… don't hurt her. She has great power… You need her power." I had relaxed the spell enough that he could let go of the arm. Cesia, bruised and barely breathing, had fallen into Rath's waiting hold. "I don't care what happens to me, but… I just can't kill her." I had underestimated the strength of his heart, hadn't I? Like Shydeman, I had had my perceptions so clouded by my own superior strength, I forgot to consider the power of will that drive Bierrez. I forgot that above all, he was acting on emotion; I had forgotten that love is a motivation strong enough to drive a dead man from his grave.

"Zouma!" Rath finally revealed to me the younger demon's name, and the way he carried Cesia away from Bierrez, around a corner where she would nothing should she awaken, was a sign to me. "Get that human kid out of here." He ordered, and the child shot you a glance that said he was more than willing to harm you, who had endangered Cesia.

'_Master Kharl!'_ You called, awaiting orders to advance on this new and measly opponent. But I had done enough damage for the night, been thwarted enough times… I had made enough mistakes and was afraid to make another. 

'_Come back Garfakcy.'_ You allowed Zouma to chase after you for almost a kilometer, just for the sheer fun of taunting an enemy, and then, when it seemed he might actually catch up, you vanished in a burst of ash. Seconds later, I heard you climbing through the main door upstairs. But I was hardly paying attention to you—because the Transmission Feather still lay intact within the Dragon Castle. I was impossibly glad I had called you back when I had. 

Instead of just beheading him with the Imperial Dragon Sword, Rath gave Bierrez a death that would have left you with nightmares. If you had seen what I could not help but watch, you would never have accepted Rath, would never have understood my love for him. Rath would have been to you a monster—because it was a monster he became. With clawed fingers, he held Bierrez still. Was it that he thought the rouge demon would run from him? With a sudden and terrible ease, his Dragon body crumbled. As if mocking the chrysalises of a silk moth, the white skin and black clothing unwound like thread. But it was no harmless insect that emerged—it was the true form Rath bore, the frightening form of Illuser.

It was as if I was seeing again the soul I had lost. His body was malleable ice, inhuman and impossible. Behind him, five tails thrashed impatiently. But it was his eyes that sent fear through me. In the golden-red depths there was nothing but chaos, nothing but sheer unstoppable bloodlust. There was nothing redeeming in them, not a shred of mercy, kindness, hope… This was a creature of nothing but darkness—and this was the monster Lykouleon had faced and spared! Could I have done the same, were Ruin anyone else's son? No. I would have killed Illuser, would have struck done with frightening animal without the slightest hint of reluctance. How could there be anything of Ruin, of Rath, behind those eyes? How could this be my child?

He tore Bierrez apart without a moment's hesitance, fangs ripping indiscriminately through flesh and bone until there was nothing left of the young demon, not even his soul… Like the dog he was, Illuser, Ruin lapped at the blood that had seeped between the stones of the road. Suddenly, he stiffened, all four icy paws tensing. His already shard-like fur bristled as he spun to face the feather that had drifted into the brush. I thought he had surely sensed my presence and would tear apart my means of watching—but at that moment, Rath reasserted his logical control over the monster that composed his form. The ice receded, the fur dissolved until there was only my son again, hunched over on the path. In his eyes there was a desolate sadness, exhaustion, a deep disgust.

He spat the blood in his mouth back onto the stones, and as if each movement was the hardest he had ever made, he turned and walked away. With a backward stare that wavered and burnt, he lit the feather on fire. His image crumbled like ash, until all I was left with wasthe memory of the look in his eyes and what it had said to me.

_I hate you._ The words rung like a bell in his weary crimson depths. But it was what I saw behind that troubled me—because more than he hated me, his gaze shone with a far worse feeling._ I hate myself. I hate what I am. What you have made me._ How could I not pity the unhealing wounds his eyes bore, the true feelings that belonged to the soul, the son I had longed to create? How could I not regret every tiny thing that weighed on his half-lidded eyes? Alone again in the castle room, I felt my heart pounding painfully inside my chest, felt the pressure of blood and guilt rushing in my ears. I could not help but shudder at the memory of Illuser's heartless eyes, could not help but shudder at Rath's, full of pain. I dropped my head into my hands, unable to stand my own thoughts.

_It's… It's all my fault._

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Translation Notes:

**1 – Tomb Guardians:** Though I maybe wrong about they actual roles, there are two official Dragon Knights characters that are associated with the Star Princess but who have never actually been drawn into the manga. Their names are Natasu and Ringa, and you can find one of the only Mineko Ohkami drawn pictures of them here: http/ www . animevisions . net / Pictures / dragonknights / Epic21 . jpg Make sure to take out the spaces.

**2 - Imperial Dragon Sword 1st Rank:** The official name of the Dragon Lord's sword. The 1st Rank sword is the official home of the Light Dragon, but there are obviously other Imperial Dragon Swords, because Lykouleon is described as having the "Imperial Dragon Sword 2nd Rank" after Rath took the 'big one'… More than likely, the 1st Rank is reserved for the Dragon Lord, and the 2nd Rank for a prince or so…

**3 – 'Name' Calling:** This is an important deal because it doesn't happen in the English language. In the Japanese culture, a lot of which has seeped into Dragon Knights (for the obvious reason), it is custom to give each person a suffix. Between friends or lovers, it's not a big deal to say the first name without suffix (Lykouleon wouldn't call Raseleane 'Raseleane-chan'). However, if you are not friends, and don't have a close relationship, it can be seen as EXCEEDINGLY rude to use just a plain first name. When Bierrez yells Kharl's name, it's basically like an English speaking person yelling a rude word. Sorta—using just his first name says that Bierrez doesn't have one ounce of respect for Kharl. But Kharl let's Rath get away with it… Because Rath is special! XD

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Author's Notes: It was a day late, sorry. Unforeseen circumstances and all that. Anyway, is everyone excited today? It's the English release of Dragon Knights 23! Saabel, yay. Not really. He's kind of irritating. But he and Rim Kaana would make a good match. He's so stunningly girly it's hilarious. I thought Rune had the lady-like cake taken, but Saabel beats him HANDS down. Anyway, expect the next chapter about the first week of September. I had planned on having it earlier, but I just don't think it's going to get done. I'm a little short on ideas for it, and not sure if I should run with what I have or a more pointed focus version… Oh well, I'll figure it out. Maybe I'll actually get to write something about Rune and Thatz, like finally. Did you like it? Pleasseeee tell me what you thought, I love reviews:D

Review Responses:

**Firefly12:** Hee hee, I'm glad you like it. Here's that next chapter, and you can keep track of post dates by checking my Profile. I always list when the next chapters will be up there. Yes, I did get a lot faster after 11… After one of my friends told me I would face an ugly and painful death if I didn't write fast I… Uh, got inspired, yeah. Anyway, hoped you liked it!

**Random Irony**: Yeah, long is the right word. Worst, this one is just as long! I was really trying to avoid that, but I couldn't help it. I don't want to split anything up now, not when I'm catching up! But this chapter doesn't feel as long to me as the last one. As far as page count goes, this one is 18 pages, and the last one was 25. I don't know why, because this chapter has more words than the last one… (Confusion!) The pace went a lot faster on this one, but I think that was because I don't like writing Kharl being evil. It was just not right what he did to Bierrez! Poor Bierrez… But he comes back, so it's all good I guess. Hope you enjoyed this one!

**Leeayre:** You got my last message right? I hope so, it was another really long one and all that jazz… Anyway, I hope you didn't mind this chapter. It was long again (I really didn't mean for it to turn out that way, it just happened!) but I think the pace moved a lot quicker than last time… I hope it did. V.V Anyway, thanks for being such a faithful reviewer, and for giving me so many fun times talking about Dragon Knights!

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	17. Lengthening Shadows

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Author's Notes: I am so sorry… That is all I can say. I got so busy I pretty much died when it came to writing this story. You guys probably know by now that I started another Dragon Knights fanfiction (a one-shot collection) and that took a lot of time, along with loads of assignments, work, and art. And in all reality… I didn't want to write this chapter. It was a little boring, and really difficult to string all the right events together at the right time. I made a million mistakes and had to keep going back and correcting my timeline. But it's finished. Shorter than the last chapters, but I'm not in the mood to write another epic, and this stuff is really just filler… Setting the stage for the disasters to come. One of the high points of this chapter is the HEAVY amount of foreshadowing. This chapter pretty much lines everything up for the ending. (OMG, Cloaks is actually going to end…) Anyway, I don't know if you guys will like or hate this chapter (it's a bit out there), but there are some parts I like a lot. There are finally some humorous bits again! Next up is Emphaza and Gil! (BTW, Cloaks just broke 100,000 words.)

Note: At this time, it may be helpful to have books 5 through 8 at your disposal.

Disclaimer: Please. I get slapped with lawsuits in my dreams for _pretending_ I own them…

Background Music: Abracadabra (Steve Miller Band) …Okay yeah, this song doesn't match the content of this chapter at all. But without this song, I could NEVER have finished...

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 17-_  
Lengthening Shadows 

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How could I ask anyone to understand the way I felt that night? How could I ask anyone to understand me, the furious pain I felt that was guilt and something stronger? For a moment, I hated myself. Truly, deeply, enough to wish I had never dreamed of Rath, had never learned Alchemy at all. If I could have torn the knowledge from my mind, I might have done it that night. I am glad now that I did not—it was my power alone that enabled me to save him, to stop him from inviting in the death he so was so ready to welcome.

For as many minutes as it took me to accept that nothing now could be changed, I sat in half silence, broken by my own breath that was ragged and tremulous. I could feel the tips of my claws digging into my temples, and ignored the pain. It was not enough to draw blood and, I laughed wryly, blood seemed to be the only thing of importance anymore.

There was no way for me to undo anything. There was no way for me to mend the fabric of my own reality—like irreplaceable silk, it had been torn by my unfragile claws. _Rath…_ Maybe I said the word aloud, maybe I did not. In those moments, the thoughts were heavy enough to be tangible things, spilling from my lips into my ivory gloves. Was I a fool? Was I a failure? Was I truly to blame for everything? I wasn't, I wasn't, I wanted so badly not to be.

When I stood I wavered, and for a moment I was sure and did not care that my feet could not hold me up. What would one more fall matter? I thought I wanted to pray to someone, to anyone, but the words would not come. There was nothing for me to say to God—He had failed me. I did not stumble: a hand that I had no control over made sure I remained upright. That was it, wasn't it? I had to catch myself. Every error, every slip, the only hands waiting to break my fall were my own, skinned and bloody. Like a weight that pushed outward, I felt lead fill my lungs. My breath stilled, I curled into myself without ever willing a muscle to move. I was alone, utterly and totally.

Who did I have to follow, to lead me? Who did I have to protect me and spill kindness and warmth into my ears? Who did I have to kiss my wounds, or to calm my fears with a touch and whisper? The darkness of the room was not impenetrable, but my eyes burned cruelly because I could not even force myself to blink. It wasn't fair, I wanted to scream. But who would listen? Who would accept my burdens as their own? I was only a child! I was not capable of caring for myself, of caring for my own soul. I was not capable of living in the world without harming others—and no one was behind me, patiently explaining my faults and forcing me to grow.

"Master…" This I know I said, because the betrayal in the word boiled and blackened in my throat—yet it was so quiet in the cold air of the room. I could not blame him, but I could not bear to blame myself. If he had not… If I had… More than anything I wanted someone to lie to me, to tell me that the lives that had been damaged, the faeries I was slaughtering were nothing. I wanted someone to tell me I was right, that I was innocent, and I wanted to believe it.

Maybe it was then I decided, maybe it was even before then. I was going to resurrect my Master. I was going to bring back the one person who would treat me still as the child I felt like—the one whose voice, so dark with bloodlust, would heal me. _They are meaningless. And you mean everything…_ What I would not have given in that moment to feel his hands close around my wrists, to feel him guiding my hands again. _This the symbol for Cinnabar. This is the symbol for Aqua Regia. This is the symbol for…_ I would have given anything to sit beside him again, small and foolish and full of illusions.

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"Master Kharl?" I heard you call from downstairs, and I drug myself from bed with only a little hesitance. It had been days since that terrible night, but still I could hardly accept all that had happened.

"You know," you muttered as you set our table for a late breakfast, "I was thinking about when I was in the Dragon Castle… The Earth Dragon Knight and the Faerie weren't there." I ran the thought several times over in my head, realizing it was true a little late. If they had been there, you would most certainly have seen them sleeping somewhere in the hallways—there was no way that at least one of those two would not have been on guard, not after Bierrez had escaped Rath the first time.

"Lykouleon will have sent the Faerie back to his home, to look into the destruction of the forests." Even if he had not sent the boy, I had no doubt that the Faerie would have petitioned until he was permitted to leave. "But the Earth Knight… Where could he have been?" What chore would a human have to attend for the Dragon Lord? They had Nadil's head, the Faerie was out to find out about his disappearing comrades… There were only so many things Lykouleon would want and feel the need to send a Dragon Knight to get.

"How long ago was it that you last checked on Lykouleon's hired thief?"

"That girl?" A sheepish, guilty look swept over your face. "I forgot about her."

"Hmm…" I murmured, but there was nothing scolding in the tone. That human girl had been working for Lykouleon for several months, and though I had not realized exactly what her errand was when she'd first begun, it had not taken me long to figure it out—she was collecting map pieces. And not just any regular map, but a map I myself had broken and scattered. Briefly I wondered if I should have just sealed it away within the castle, where the Dragons could never have gotten a hold of it, but then the thought was gone. This was bound to be interesting, and more than anything, I needed something to take my mind off Rath.

"It would appear that the Dragon Lord and his mercenary have gotten further along than either of us expected."

"You mean she actually managed to find all the pieces?"

"Enough of them at least, that Lykouleon would feel the need to send his Earth Knight with her." There was nothing else he could possibly want—and the Three Treasures would be an incredible asset to their cause if he did ever manage to get his hands on them.

That is why I had sealed them away to begin with, building the intricate alternate dimension to confine their power where no one would be able to get it, from Nadil's or Lykouleon's side. Salbacion, Lakiayta, Diolasis: they were created centuries ago, when I was young, by the Eastern King, the very man that… They were meant to be tools for destroying demons. Diolasis, a Holy Dragon's Eye, whose power is unrivaled. Salbacion, the spirit-like potions capable of bringing one back from the edge of death.(1) Lakiayta, the weapon that can be wielded only by a Dragon Lord… They were meant to be gifts, but I could not allow such unadulterated power to slip into the hands of my enemies. I stole them away; hide them where they could not be reached. And I shattered the clues to their whereabouts and let them fall where they would.

I knew that Lykouleon would not give up on finding them just because their locations were no longer readily known. I knew that Nadil, once he had learned of them, would not waste any time trying to find them. I knew this and I wanted it to happen—in the end, I think I am simply a lover of mischief. I made it possible for both of them to find the treasures, I made it possible for myself to watch them scramble like rats for something that, even if they managed to find them, they would never be able to retrieve. There was a perverse pleasure to be gained from being the one in control of such a serious situation.

And now the Dragon Lord had sent one of his knights to gather the Treasures—I almost laughed right then and there over the breakfast table. If the human keeper of the Earth Dragon managed to locate all the things required to read the map, and managed to find the cavern and entered it—he would never return from the darkness. I suppose it was quite cruel of me to find joy in the thought that a Dragon Knight might die because of what I had done, but any chance to damage Lykouleon set my blood beating faster in my veins. He was my enemy, the man that had destroyed my life for the second time.

That night, though thinking about the Three Treasures had driven Rath and Illuser momentarily from my mind, I dreamt of fire and ice. I dreamt of destruction, of death, of ash. I slept fitfully at best, and threw the covers off so many times I finally stopped getting up to get them. Over and over in my mind, I watched Illuser's cold eyes burn into my own, watched the monster my son had become lap at his own bloody fangs. I drifted that night halfway and out of the world of dreams, memorizing the wood grain of the rafters of my room. By the time the dawn sun peeked through the window I had slept an hour at most, and I knew I must have looked worse for the wear—but I rose when you did, crushing the lingering nightmare sickness with a breakfast I could barely swallow.

I watched you leave, off to hunt faeries, without saying a word, and I think my mind would have been clouded all day if I hadn't happened to glance at the calendar in passing. Why we even kept one, I can't say—it was something you liked, a basic human reassurance that days really were flowing one after the other, a relentless march of time. Normally I wouldn't have spared it a glance, but today you'd left the box labeled '10th' half marked. It was really unlike you to not do things thoroughly, and I wondered briefly why the calendar had lost your interest after one side of your standard X had already been drawn on. Deftly, I finished it off, and that is when it struck me: today was the tenth of March, the day we had met more than two centuries ago.

Being so sharply reminded of your age also reminded me that it had been almost a hundred years since I had given you a Longetivity pill. Where had I even put them? Somewhere in the storeroom off the library, right? I threw myself eagerly into finding them, because it filled a place that otherwise would have been full of dark thoughts. Unfortunately, throwing myself too eagerly into things always causes some sort of destruction—and I find that my poking about is generally dangerous behavior to begin with. Within moments, the decently clean storeroom was becoming a disaster. Books I shifted off the shelves to look behind made clumsy stacks, cluttering the tables and floors. There were boxes I had never even bothered to look into laying everywhere, one on top of the either, full of moth holes and crawling with those tiny silver insects that live in book pages. A layer of dust thick enough to choke a small child covered everything, dying a white drape over some forgotten pieces of furniture a horrible dusty grey. I brushed aside cartons and vases and jars and still could not find the music box.

Of course, as if the dust itself had summoning magic, you chose then to return. It had felt like only a few minutes since you'd departed, but the slowly ticking clock perched precariously on an unsteady pile of molding notebooks said it had been two hours.

"My, that was fast Garfakcy!" You took one look at the room and almost burst into tears. "What's wrong?"

"It's getting dusty everywhere! Wha-What are you doing?.!" I took a breath to answer you and inhaled a veritable cloud of dirt motes. With a hacking cough and choke, I managed to clear my throat again.

"I'm simply searching for something… But the harder I look, the harder it is to find anything!" I watched a single dust bunny drift through the air and strike a wobbling pile of books—sending the entire stack crumbling to the floor. "Oops." Indignation rolled off you in waves, and I wondered briefly if I ought to hastily retreat. I'd been on the receiving end of your 'cleanly rage' more than once, and was not quite willing to incur it again… Thankfully enough, you took out your anger on the mire and not on my face. "I was sure it was around here somewhere…"

"Duster!" It was almost a wail, "Vacuum!" You sounded as if you embracing old friends, or greeting a long lost lover. A sudden change in your appearance caught my eye, and I had to severely re-think my belief that humans could not perform magic: because I knew _for a fact_ there hadn't been any aprons laying around the room, and you hadn't come in wearing one…

"I'm going to seize this opportunity and clean up around here! Go find something else to do Master Kharl."

"Hai…" I accepted your orders without question. When it came to the well-being of the castle, you were the lord and I was the (rather useless) tag-along. "Are you sure there's not something I can do to help?" You stiffened like a cornered cat.

"Here, use this Master Kharl." You gruffly shoved a watering can in my direction, and I had only enough time to wonder where you'd gotten the water before you turned me roughly around and sent me toddling off to several potted plants, all of whom were looking quite shabby. I know you must have been watering them from outside, but they looked decidedly neglected.

"Look at all this dust," your displeased voice was muffled by the rag you kept over your nose, "there must be a hundred years' worth!" Probably not quite that long, I pondered, but it must have been decades. The thought of age made me remember again why I had begun my search, which in turn reminded me of our discussion from yesterday.

"The Earth Dragon Knight is heading toward the island to search for the Three Treasures right now, isn't he?"

"Looks like it. He should be on the sea about now."

"Nadil's officers are completely in the dark," I couldn't help but chuckle slightly, amazed at how discreet Lykouleon had managed to be on this operation… Getting a _human_ thief from outside the castle to handle the map, sending a Dragon Knight only when he absolutely had to. It was clever, and that irked me. "They have no idea what is going on." Those two were almost incompotent—running around unproductively without Nadil to fill their heads with all the right plans.

"Let's keep it that way," you growled, evident dislike of the pair slipping into your voice, "there's no need for us to tell them anything."

"But that's no fun," I pointed out with a giggle that was not all friendly, "it's much more entertaining to see them run around panicked just a little, right?" You blinked at me in somber recognition. "Besides, I'd love to see their faces when they realize we know something they don't." I could picture Shyrendora's huffy rage and Shydeman's quiet seething, and both images tickled me completely.

"I see…" you murmured, and it dawned on you that teasing Nadil's minions would be almost as fun as causing havoc. "Oh, and what's this pile of a junk?" Another precarious stack of boxes and bags teetered and then fell, filling the room anew with dust.

"It's research I was doing for some old experiments," I realized, noticing several notebooks that might have been familiar at one time. "It's been so long, I'd completely forgotten about all this work."

"So," you sighed in exasperation, "you would consider it trash." I could tell you desperately wanted to scold me for not cleaning up after myself, but the words died in your mouth, leaving me feeling no less guilty about being so messy. "Trash it is." Swiftly you began to collect it all and stuff it away, picking delicately through for anything that might be salvageable. A dark-patterned egg slipped from the pile and I caught it out of interest.

"A demon's egg? When did I make this?" I didn't recall having kept any eggs, so finding one in a back storeroom seemed strange.

"You could give it to Shydeman, he'd probably be very touched." The vapid sarcasm in your voice made the idea delicious. Of course, why not? It might even give you a bartering tool and time to escape, should the twins not take your other message well.

"Good idea. Take it with you when you go to the see the officers."

An hour and a half later, which was a long stretch of time compared to your impressive cleaning skills, the storeroom had been restored to gleaming conditions. Notebooks of information that might one day become pertinent to me lined the shelves, you had sent all the boxes and their contents to proper places inside the cabinets, and we'd both discovered that this storeroom had actually been brimming with wines neither of us had known existed.

"Oh, so this is where it was." The music box sat gleaming on the very bottom shelf of the furthest cabinet in. I could never have found it on my own, not without pulling the castle down too… "Open your mouth," I cut off your questions and threw the Longetivity pill in your direction. With an audible gulp and general look of distrust, you murmured your confusion. Had you really forgotten? With quick words, I reminded you gently of the fact that you were different—it had been a whole century since you'd last taken one, and a hundred years is a long time to remember something trivial like medicine.

Strangest of all, the white drape I'd mistaken earlier for a furniture dropcloth actually turned out to be a cloak I'd been missing for years, and once you'd thoroughly beat the dust from it, I put it on with deft hands.

Gingerly, without even needing to be asked, you followed me down into the laboratory, dragging the cage of squealing Water Lights behind you.

"Disappointing," I couldn't help but mutter, though my sentiments were not directed at you. There were so few of the faerie tribe left alive after Ruin and I had ripped through their population, it was actually quite remarkable that you had managed to find as many as you had.

"Is that not enough?" you questioned, a little bit of fear at my displeasure coming through in your voice. When I answered in the negative, I could see a curious light begin to glint in your green eyes.

"Can you only use Faeries? What exactly are you making anyway, and why do you need the Spirit Tribe?"

"Faeries possess incredible healing power—that ability is related to containing and reviving souls. Though alone a single Faerie could never hope to resurrect anything larger than a tree, together, their power is magnified exponentially. And that power is a vital ingredient for forging Left Bird's replacement."

"Left Bird? You're really making a replacement?" Your eyes where wide with concern and intrigue, and I wondered for a moment if you took offense to my replacing our lost companion. "But you told me you were capable of creating demons without Left Bird."

"I can, but in order to create the particular youkai I want, I need Left Bird's power."

"What is it? What are you going to make?"

"My murdered master's body." I laughed, but it was false and pale and only for your benefit. I wanted to hide from you just how seriously I was taking the entire affair, wanted to hide my distress behind a smile—it did not fail then, it has never failed.

"I don't believe it." The words were stunned, but there was a luster in your jade eyes that did not seem to match. For a moment, sheer delight simmered just under the surface of your face, and I could not help but question why. Did you really want to meet that man? What interest could a demon whom you had never met hold for you? But then I realized it—simple. I was brutally strong, wickedly clever. How could any person who desired more power _not_ want to meet the source of my strength?

"I'll need something powerful to govern that spirit, so I need to kill many Faeries." You still had not found the entrance to the Water Realm, but that was understandable: it had been inaccessible since Nadil's rather neanderthalic attacks, and many of the entrances had been destroyed by Ruin, by you, and human encroachment into the forest territories. "And then there's Varawoo to deal with…" The fish demon was more trouble than he had right to be. Trying to drown the world, pointless really. "But the lack of Faeries is the most pressing issue at the moment."

"Can I start killing humans?" The words were as sharp as your blade, and heated and hungry as hellfire. It was almost saddening, but in the end, I deemed it trivial. I knew what they had done to you, and I knew the desperate desire for revenge. "Go ahead." It was an afterthought when I laughed, "my master loved doing that—he would be very pleased." But I could see what effect the passing comment had had on you. A bright smile overtook your face, your eyes shone with something like anticipation, and something like pride. I had always known that the strangest of things could make you happy.

"Still, we will _need_ more Faeries." If Ruin had not… If I had not… It was almost a shame, and deadly ironic, that the Faerie race I needed so much then were almost extinct by accidents of my causing so many years before. I told you that, in a roundabout manner that was more lie than truth. I could not tell you that I deemed my turning the Faeries into demons 'saving'—because that would mean telling you who and what horrible death I had saved them from.

For a while longer, we worked together (or I worked, and you walked behind, picking up the messes I could not help but make), making corrections to acidic levels, to the influx of Spiritual power, to just about everything I could think of. It was midday before I was content enough to take a break, and though you looked positively exasperated, you served tea and cakes with no less flourish than ever.

"I think I'll go to see Nadil's flunkies now…" you mused, setting your emptied cup back on the tea tray, "I'm sure they'd love to hear about Lykouleon's latest success." The wicked little glint in your eye could not have been more amusing, and you took the demon's egg you intended to give them off the shelf. Deft hands reached for the ash to start a transportation spell.

"Ah, Garfakcy, take your apron off." Somehow, I didn't think Nadil's right-hand man would take you very seriously if you barged into his rooms wearing that confection of pink and blue. You blinked flatly at me once, and once at the offending cloth, before undoing your neat bows, folding the apron in a perfect square and setting it aside with a heavy sigh. Yes, I agreed mentally, leading the double-life of housekeeper and havoc-wreaker must have been quite trying sometimes. In almost affronted sparkle of ash magic, you were gone, off to stir up panic in Nadil's stronghold. I chuckled to myself, eating the last of the yummy little lemon cakes. The day seemed only to be getting better and better—and for the first time in a long while, thoughts of Rath did not cloud my mind.

It was not long after that you returned to the castle, giggling merrily and brimming with a malicious delight that lit the main hall like a flame.

"Shydeman just loved your gift. I think he's already found a use for it."

"And how did he take the other news?" Identical devilish smiles danced across our faces.

"He was livid. And Shyrendora almost had a heart attack. They really seem to think the Dragons are going to get the Three Treasures."

"A little fear on their part is probably not misplaced. The Treasures would spell their defeat utterly…" I sighed in mock sadness, "I almost wish I had come along now. Their faces must have been priceless."

It was late afternoon already, and the sky was a tawny gold outside the dusty glass castle windows. While you went to prepare dinner, I inspected the demon I was forging carefully in the depths of the castle. The intense spiritual power billowed in the glass tubes, glowing faintly and filling the cervices of the room with cobalt shadow. Warmth filled the normally cold stone chamber, filled me.

That night, I had a dream that felt more like reality than any I had ever had before. For a long time I languished in an impenetrable fog, where I could catch nothing but glimpses of shadowy figures and voices that might have been familiar to me and might not have been.

_What's the situation at the Dragon Castle? _A cold voice, a flash of silver hair…

_A long time ago, Arinas was also ruled by a single king... _Stars and a map unfurling…

_And the holder of that power will cast a massive shadow... _Red and black lights, shards of crystal…

_He is a demonic creature who wears the skin of a Dragon... _Playing cards and poison and blue, blue eyes…

_It's as if two demons as powerful as Nadil himself are engaged in battle!_ Pale skin and a far away fear…

_So this is where… Rath's precious grave. _Stone and a smile thick with sorrow…

And then, as if some shining heat had burned it all away, the mist cleared, filling my mind with a shock of color that might have been midnight or noon sky. The Star Princess stood before me, and though we were close, she seemed as distant and untouchable as the stars that glittered around her flowing roseate locks and immaculate white robe. Her delicate wan hands pressed into the dark wood of a staff—the Wind Staff so much of this world's fate was resting on. At last, she spoke, voice tremulous and redolent with hope and horror.

_The Three Treasures… I wish… I wish…_ But the rest of her words were lost in the sound of a high, cruel howl that might have been Illuser and might just as easily have been anyone else.

I woke with a start and watched the sun rise over the dark forest tree tops.

You left early that morning to hunt faeries, leaving me alone in the castle. I languished around, strolling the grounds (taking the time to poke at a clog in one of the fountains, which turned out to be a cranky moss demon, not the benevolent fungus I'd expected), and whipping up a few mischievous batches of Sickness Enhancer. It was altogether a boring day, and not even the weather seemed to be making an effort. The breeze was pitiful, the sun hardly warm, the clouds were wispy and formless. Afternoon came slowly, but finally.

A few hours later, I began to get anxious. Surely you would not have lingered so long in Dusis. What could be hindering your return? There was no one in the kingdom, save the Dragon Lord, who could have caused you trouble, and I was certain he was tucked safely in his castle, far from where you would be hunting faeries. Perhaps you had run into the Water Knight? But I cast that thought aside also. You were far too stealthy to simply cross paths with him, and he surely would never suspect a child to be the bringer of mass genocide… So what could be halting your return? In the back of my mind, unease bated, but I chose to shove it aside. Nothing was wrong, I assured myself, and when that failed, I left the bright, empty halls of the upper castle and sank into the darkness of the laboratory.

The soft trickles of faerie spirits lit the gloom with a tremulous blue light—but I immediately noticed something wrong. The light was too bright, the flicker too rapid. The water, which had been bubbling gently for days, was frothing. Unwilled, my own demon energy flared to life, and as if brutally ripped apart, was siphoned away into the shade of the room, in a swirl of wind that touched nothing but myself. The translucent pillar to my left cracked sharply, dripping steaming water. Inside the mass of boiling liquid, _something_ made repeated knocks against the glass. A flash of white among the blue caught my eye, and then I drew sharply back.

Skeletons. Nothing but bones, dancing in the waters' currents.

The faeries' bodies had been eaten completely away—as I watched the fleshless bones corroded into swirling traces of grey, almost like ash, and then they too vanished into the infrequent blue shine. The Left Beast had gone beyond assimilating souls! I felt the power that had been stolen from me wax and wane with the pulses of light—and then that glow suddenly and utterly vanished, dousing the room in darkness. A high, cold howl rent the air, shaking my heart against my ribs, splintering the glass tubes. Shrapnel exploded outward, cutting books and bottles and shattering against the stone walls. Boiling water spilled over the floor and filled the room with an effervescent steam. To have this much control over its' environment without even being complete…

The sound of claws on shards of glass echoed suddenly, stilling my hesitant movements. Deep within the darkness, a pair of amethyst eyes opened for the first time and peered into the depths of my soul.

**I assure you Creator, I am most complete.** The voice was curt, vaguely feminine and redolent with a wisdom that seemed endless. It was unsettling, and then the creature slunk toward me. Her movement was fluid, effortless, and at last she wound free of the shadows to stand before me. There was no way to tell her midnight fur from the pressing gloom—she could have been every black pocket of the room, staring back into my heart.

**You… are interesting,** her white fangs glinted starkly.

"And you are more beautiful than I imagined you would be."

**No,** she offered a thin-lipped, toothy smile, **I am exactly as you imagined I would be: the shadow of a power that was lost—"**

"And of a dream that has yet to come true."

**My role is clear. I will not fail.**

"I know," I smiled indulgently and brightly into the darkness, "and that is why I will put my trust in you." She crossed the last meter between us and placed her muzzle in my gloved hand.

**I will serve well in Left Bird's place. I cannot be a wing for you, but my steps will never falter, and my mind will never cease.** I didn't have the words at that moment to express the depth of my gratitude—it was like having Left Bird suddenly returned to my side. No, perhaps the heavy feeling of relief and warmth was deeper than the feeling I'd shared with the previous Soul Crafter: this beast showed a depth of compassion and elegance Left Bird had never had. In some small way, the faeries that composed her form lived on.

**Come now.** Her amethyst eyes glittered with amusement as she wound her way toward the stone staircase. **This black air does not suit you.**

I was amazed to find it so still so light in the upper corridors of the castle. The sun was perched just over the forest canopy, dying the sky a warm afternoon gold with streaks of pink cloud throughout. You had not returned, and unease pressed again in the back of my mind. At my side, the spirit demon lifted her head into my hand, warm fur brushing gently against the thin material of my glove.

I wandered aimlessly up and down the silent halls, counting my breaths and each click of her dark nails. I was going to kill you, I remember thinking that. If I was worried for nothing, if you had taken a detour to go shopping or stopped to look at some new flower, I was honestly going to kill you. And then revive you of course, because Heaven knows I'm not capable of taking care of myself.

**If you are unsettled Master, you should read a book to calm your mind.** Her voice came across far more like a command than a suggestion, and I got the distinct impression that she could not only feel my distress but also found it unnerving. There was really nothing to do but listen to her, and I suddenly had a sinking suspicious that if this moment was any example, the compassion she exhibited was going to see me on the end of quite a few more command-suggestions.

The rays of sunlight filtered weakly through high windows, painting the library a welcoming dusty orange. Deftly, I lit the tall taper candles, shedding flickering light in my wake. The Left Beast wound around shelves and around me, nose to the floor, taking in every new smell she came across. For a moment, it was easy to pretend she was only a large mortal dog—but then she fixed abyss-like eyes on me and huffed.

**For a library, I find this room intolerably dust-free. It does not even smell of moldy pages.**

"And I suppose you have smelled many libraries?" I did not think it was possible for a canine face to contort in that manner, but she sent me a flat glare, and then a smirk.

**I have smelt everything you have smelt, and know everything you know.** Her eyes narrowed in distaste for a moment, brow creasing just barely. **I cannot comprehend all of it, and much of it does not interest me, but I will not lie and say I have not taken this time to wind my way through your mind.** Shock briefly coursed through me. I felt suddenly vulnerable and invaded, but I could not sustain the feeling. Had I expected any less? It had been impossible to keep a secret from Left Bird, and his predecessor seemed to be no different. A stifled sigh of surrender slipped between my lips.

"I trust that every secret you so brutishly stole will _remain_ secret."

**Who would I tell?** She grinned again, that heavy predatory look. **And who in the world would believe me?** I gave a dry chuckle in return, knowing the truth of that statement. How strange and convoluted my story was! Mindlessly I riffled through the shelves, searching for anything distracting. I barely noticed the massive and teetering stacks of books I left in my wake. Finally, I settled for a few leather-bound tomes. They were newer volumes, ones you had bought but I had never taken the time to read. Just as I opened the first volume, a pained whimper pulled my eyes from the page.

The spirit demon wavered on her paws, angled eyes shut tightly against some internal pain. She panted harshly, and then fell weakly against a low shelf.

"What's the matter?" I could not keep the concern out of my voice, and I stood at the table, ready to cross the short distance between us and assist her.

**I,** there was a hint of shame in her voice, **I stole a large amount of power from you to speed the completion of my corporeal form. But I did not take into consideration that, while this body is a demonic creation, the largest part of my power is comprised of pure Spiritual energy. The faerie power and your demonic ki are not mixing well.** She slunk, slowly and low to the floor, around the table, winding around my legs and leaning heavily against my knees. **It will not be long before I can assimilate the two, but at the moment, my body is refusing to function properly.** All this she said with a clinical voice that made light of a situation that seemed to me quite severe. Then another more pressing thought caught my attention.

"You were capable of taking my power without my willing it at all."

**Yes,** she sighed heavily, the sound rumbling against my knee where her head rested, **I am a creature whose only purpose is to govern and manipulate the mind, the soul. It is an easy matter for me to take parts of others' beings and use them to my advantage. You may be considerably gifted in Soul Alchemy, but I have a dominion over Spirit that you will never possess.** She gave me a weak canine smile, but her amethyst eyes were clear and dancing with mischief. **With your guard down, your mind is as open to me as any wide-flung door. I could have your whole heart, right now, if I wanted it.**

I smiled softly again, stroking the space between her two pointed black ears. "I highly doubt that. You can barely stand on your own four feet at the moment, let alone steal souls." She huffed, clearly put out, and then lowered her head from my knee to lay at my feet.

The silence weighed sharply, and I was suddenly reminded of why I had come to the library in the first place—to take my mind off the fact that you still had not come home from your trip to Dusis. Having forgotten for a minute and just then remembering seemed to make the reality somehow sharper, and I tapped the cover of the book I had yet to reopen nervously.

"He's off somewhere enjoying himself," I insisted, feeling the brush of a furred head across my boots, "and he'll be back any minute now with some new plant or recipe." With that, I tugged the book open furiously and devoured the tiny and scrawled text.

It was surprising to say the least. The book was a collection of reports profiling demons considered to be highly prominent and powerful. You had probably bought it simply for kicks—I was given a thorough covering on pages 13 through 27. (The second largest section, shorter only than Nadil's. No, I wasn't bitter about that at all.) Most of the information sounded second-hand and was mainly fluff related to my original destruction of the faeries and the Demon's Bible. But there was also a sizable bit on my feud with the Arinain king. My captures of Arinas' Life Spirit and the Three Treasures were heralded in the book as heroic blows for demon-kind. There was even a dashing portrait on the first page. The cut of my bangs was wrong, but the longer pieces did not look at all bad, and I wondered if I shouldn't let my hair grow out a little…

By the time I reached the middle of the book, my attention was focused solely on the pages. They had that poor boy Gil listed… At my feet, the Left Beast stirred and stretched.

**What are you reading?**

"Something of a field guide to demons. I'm included, as is one of my creations."

**Oh? Read it to me**, she yawned and laid her head back on my boots, one tapered ear cocked upward toward me.

"'The demon of Mount Emphaza is a fierce one-eyed guardian… With his sharp claws and fangs, he kills all who venture near, in order to protect an item hidden deep within Emphaza.' Well, he seems to faring well enough, I thought he might have been killed for his disobedience by now…"

**Is he the one you sold to Shydeman? I saw that in your memories.**

"Yes. He was one of my favorite creations…" My favorite really, because I could never count Ruin or Rath as a creation. Ruin was meant to have been a precious comrade, not an experiment. "I should have asked Shydeman to pay more for him." I tried to keep my voice light and carefree, but it kept a melancholic note I could not fully stifle. Gil was nothing but regrets and bitter memories. The Left Beast breathed heavily at my feet, already back to sleep.

"I wonder what Nadil is hiding in Emphaza, to justify such a spectacle… No, it's a farce. Those fools don't have anything worth hiding." I was about to return to my reading when a heavy footstep sounded behind me, followed shortly by a muffled curse. "_Garfakcy?_" I leapt from my seat, only to watch you stumbling around the colonnades. The scent of blood preceded you, and drops of red marked your sluggish trail from behind. "What happened? How did you get those injuries?" You stared at me almost sheepishly, as if afraid to admit you were in pain.

"It was the Earth Dragon Knight," you hissed at last, weakly crossing the room to my side. I immediately began a frantic search for the nearest first aide box. I destroyed the room in the process, but that was the last thing on my mind.

"Here, give me your hand." I doused antiseptic on the wounds, binding them each carefully and tightly, wincing only slightly at each of your noises of discomfort. "The Earth Dragon Knight was supposed to be on an island off our coast. Why was he in Dusis at all?"

"He obviously went back."

"He must not have entered the cave of the Three Treasures after all… If he had, there's no way he could have escaped it." You made a questioning noise, but I cut you off by winding the bandages too tightly. "These injuries are severe." It pained me simply to look at them, and I swore at that moment that I would not ignore my feelings of unease ever again. "You didn't use the ash armor." You flinched, not from sudden pain but from the weight of accusation.

"Garfakcy, the human body is weak. It injures easily and recovers slowly. It even makes a disgusting cracking noise when it gets broken. Trust me, it's not a pleasant sound. Please use the armor."

"Why don't you just make me a demon?" There was earnest desire and desperation in the demand, but you could not meet my eyes when you asked it. Reservation stilled my voice, and I regretted that you would ask me something like that again, at a time when denying you strength to protect yourself seemed almost cruel. I couldn't form a response, so a withdrawn 'what?' filled the air, giving me time to force a fake reply.

"Having claws would be useful."

"You really want that?" There was a note of barely veiled disappointment and concern in my voice.

"Well…"

"It's so over-rated!" I resorted to making light of the situation to stop your thoughts from progressing any further. "I could never make you a demon. I'd be giving up my most interesting specimen! Your human traits are just so fun to observe!" You scowled lividly in my direction. "Oh come now, don't pout."

"I'm not pouting," you muttered, "I'm just bitter I lost, that's all." The frankness with which you admitted that and the clarity that you were able to give your emotions was always intriguing and I could not help but giggle. If you had the strength to be defensive, I did not need to worry too much about your health.

"What exactly is so funny?" I could see your eye twitching angrily.

"You never fail to keep me entertained."

"My pain, nice of you to find it funny." You held yourself a little straighter, the ointments already starting to work on your open wounds. "Oh, by the way, I missed a chance to catch a faerie."

"Oh… I should have told you right away… I've already finished the replacement for Left Bird. I don't need faeries anymore." Your face flashed with pure, unadulterated rage and frustration, and you leapt off your stool and slammed your head repeatedly against the wall. "Ummm, Garfakcy, you really shouldn't do that…"

"All that work!" you huffed, fist clenching hard enough to open the wound again and causing it to bleed through the bandages.

"Yes…" I mumbled pathetically, and you growled under your breath in a disappointment—we had not needed to kill humans after all.

"Don't worry, your chance will come. There will be carnage galore." I smiled devilishly down at you, and was answered by a sharp glare.

"Fine. But right now… We have _got_ to clean up this room! How did one first aide box get so messy?! And you never put the books back!" You pulled another summoning act, whipping your apron and a ribbon out of thin air. I was pushed to the back as you flew into a cleanly rage, injuries all but forgotten. When another stack of books were being shelved, you turned to me again and repeated your earlier question—only to have the answer rudely cut short by another one of my silly mistakes. I'd picked up a cup on the table, thinking it to be some of your tea.

"You know, that's Sickness Enhancer." I jerked the cup back from my lips as quickly as possible, juggling it to keep the liquid from spilling.

"Who put this cup here anyway?"

"That would be you Master Kharl." You turned on the stool to fix me with a serious stare. "So, that cave… Did you…"

"You're persistent today Garfakcy," I smiled gently, "I placed spells on the entrance and exit of the cave, and then I let some demons loose inside, just for fun. No one will be carrying the treasures out of that cave." I shifted to a more comfortable position on the desktop. "I won't let the Dragon Lord have his way."

"You could have sealed the Treasures away completely… Why didn't you just do that?"

"Nadil would be most upset if the Three Treasures were to fall into the hands of the Dragon Lord, and we wouldn't want the Treasures released into the world either, but…"

"You want to see Nadil's minions squirm a bit, don't you?" _Guilty as charged. _You griped briefly about the lack of bloodshed, a common complaint of yours, and I was forced to satiate your interest with a more formal explaination of the Treasures.

"They were tools made by the King of Arinas, the very man who killed my Master. The King of Arinas…" Just the thought of him brought back images of the bloodshed I had found that day, so long ago. Rage leapt and burnt inside me, causing me to lose control over my normally tame form and ki. "I should have killed him back then… Now I will kill him a thousand times over." The oppressive atmosphere must have frightened you—I could almost feel you stiffen and shrink back from me. I immediately dragged myself out of the macabre thoughts, if only for your sake.

"So that's the story…"

"Now you understand why I can't allow anyone to run off with them. Once inside the cave, the only way to escape is to exit through a special gate I prepared… It's a shame the Earth Knight did not go in. We would have been able to reduce the Dragon Lord's manpower."

"I'll kill him," you snarled, animosity dripping off the words, "he's due for an ass-kicking!"

"Not yet Garfakcy, there are more important things to take care of…"

"Really? Like cleaning up the messes you make?" He waved a crumbling book threateningly in my direction and received only a sheepish grin in answer.

"I have a condition! It makes it hard for me to find things!"

"Oh, and all this time I thought you were just a pig." I shuffled the insult aside in favor of more serious business.

"That's unimportant." Right Bird answered my call and bated down from the rafters. "Now, using the power of the Left Bird, we will resurrect my master."

"Shall we name it, the Left Beast?" You blinked slowly once, and I could tell you were wondering just where the creature was.

"_She_ has already chosen a name," I chuckled. "We are to call her Sinistra."(2) As if the name itself could rouse her from sleep where all our talking had not, a black form shot suddenly out of the shadows, crossing the room as a dark blur and knocking you forcefully off the stool.

"What the—!" She stood over you, four clawed paws pinning your small form to the floor. Amethyst met jade in a deep and soul-penetrating stare. For a long moment, none of us moved, and then she bent suddenly forward and licked your face. "Ew, germs! Get off me!"

**This one smells of you…** She allowed you to push her away and turned to stare in my direction, **I like him. He is also interesting.** Yes, I silently agreed with her.

Despite your reservations about germs, you seemed to have no problem petting her, and from the pleased pair of smiles (one quite a bit more fanged than the other) beaming at me, I had a feeling I was witnessing the beginning of a fast friendship. It was fated I suppose… I'd always heard that dogs were man's best friends—given, she was a demon dog and you were not quite the standard human boy… Eh, technicalities.

"You are feeling better then, Shinisu?"(3) I asked, taking in her much more alert appearance.

**Yes, the powers are fusing well enough.** You left off rubbing her fur for a moment to shelve the last pair of books, and then we all swept off to the parlour for late afternoon tea. We were almost our own confused parade, winding down the corridor: a bird, a boy, a dog and demon lord… Well all right, 'lord' might have been stretching things. A dead continent's not much of a kingdom to rule over…

Later, I watched the waning moon in silence from my bed, taking in each of its' broken forms in the multi-faceted window. I wanted to sleep but I was also afraid. It had been nice to see the Star Princess, but something about the dream from the night before felt ominous—like a normal shadow cast at the wrong angle for the light that was shining. There was simply something _off_. I don't know when I finally drifted into sleep, but it must have been quite late.

I did not dream of shapes in the fog or of the Star Princess—instead there was only a boundless darkness. I felt that I could run forever and never reach its edges. And in the darkness, Rath's voice whispered softly, endlessly.

_Tapping into others' minds… resurrecting the dead… controlling souls…_

'Who are you talking about Rath?' I tried to call, but the blackness stifled the words before they could ever leave my lips.

Who are you talking about Rath?

Me?

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Translation Notes:

(1) – I don't know which of the Three Treasures belongs to whom (except that Diolasis belongs to Cesia…), and I don't even know if one them can actually save you from dying… It seemed to work well for Kitchel when she got stabbed… So yeah, that and the fact that "Salbacion" is written as "Saabeishon" in Japanese (which can be transliterated as "Salvation"…) made me decide on that order for the Treasures.

(2) – Shinisutora is the correct Japanese romanization for the Left Beast's name. Accounting for the devoiced Japanese vowels, the correct pronunciation of her name should be "Sinistra". Coincidentally (or not, obviously), **Sinistra** is Italian for "left". Many other Dragon Knights characters take their names from Italian, including Fedelta ("loyalty") and Tintoretto ("pastel colors").

(3) – Both Garfakcy and Kharl call Sinistra by the pet name "Shinisu" in the original Japanese version. It's pronounced "Sinis", but I like the way Shinisu looks, so I left it that way.

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Author's Notes: Well, there yah go. Some parts of this chapter I was so happy with, and some parts I just hate utterly. Particularly the timing of it. All the events in the book were so disjointed I had to try and stick them all together in a coherent manner without too much extra boring stuff or cutting out anything important. What did you all think of Sinistra? Too crazy/out there/stupid? I really hope not! (I like her talking…) All in all, I think I could have done better, but this will have to suffice. It's pretty much just filler for the next chapter. Gil comes back! I think I'll throw in a bunch of flashbacks and build on the Kharl and Gil conflict. And then there's Garfakcy's animosity to deal with too… And the meeting between Kharl and Rath. Joy, so much work ahead of me! I'm so glad I managed to finish this before the new year… XD And if there are a lot of grammatical mistakes in this chapter, well point them out... But I blame lack of sleep. It's 3 AM right now, and I woke up at 4:30 AM this (yesterday) morning.

Review Responses:  
**Random Irony:** Yes, I also wondered what the heck the Star Princess was doing… But she's clearly got some connection to Rath. I really need to sit down and translate book 25… It looks like the answers are finally being given! v.v I LOVE Bierrez too. I was so sad when he died, and then so happy when he came back. I'm glad you liked Rath's transformation. I was worried that maybe it was a little too out there! T.T Thanks so much for reviewing!

**Leeayre:** Sorry that I didn't get to book nine yet. That's next chapter, and it'll be pretty much Gil-centric. With a little bit of Rath. And Star Princess drama. I was frustrated when Rath ate Bierrez too… I was like… THAT'S IT!? No reaction shots, no dramatic bloodshed? But I think the only time I really shook/attacked a book was book 11, when Alfeegi died. I was in the bookstore and I was so angry I threw the book and hit someone! Thankfully the person wasn't angry… And I had intended to buy the book anyway. When it comes to Japanese, the way to tell things apart is to look for particles, which separate parts of the sentences and also for the "ru" and "ta" and "te" that end verbs. Anyway, I hope this chapter wasn't too pitiful… And after such a long wait too. v.v' Thanks for reviewing!

**Yami-Chan and the Unrealistic:** Hee hee, I'm glad you liked it. Tokyopop is too slow! And then their translations are so bad it's not even worth waiting for! Learn Japanese and read it straight, lol (I'm slowly translating 25 now…) I'm sorry for this pathetic chapter… T.T But thanks so much for reviewing!

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	18. Eternal Snow

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Author's Notes: Wow… seven months went by really, really fast. Sorry about that. …I feel like I am always starting these chapters with "sorry". You get an extra sorry this time—because **I HATE this chapter! **Just to give you a head's up now: it's not good, by any means. My writing style is changing, I'm being heavily influenced by a new fandom and fanfiction, and I just could not find the interest to write this chapter. And there's WAY less Gil than I promised there would be. Oh well, I can't help that. This chapter is a serious emotional roller coaster too… I'm sorry. T.T So many POV issues… Rargh. Kharl had an identity crisis too… Well, just read it and get it over with.

Note: At this time, it may be helpful to have books 8 and 9 at your disposal.

Disclaimer: I can't even satisfy myself with these chapters—there is no way I could satisfy the entire DK fanbase the way Mineko does (and doesn't, grrr, the DK ending was awful…)

Background Music: Before It's Too Late (Goo Goo Dolls)

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**Cloaks**  
By Sarehptar  
_Chapter 18-_  
Eternal Snow 

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_We've reached it: the point where all things must change, the precipice. And we are crowded here, back to back on the edge. One breath after stilling breath, poised to make our final controlled movements._

Don't! Don't leap!

_But our hearts are pounding and our blood is beating and there is no stopping now. The calm before the storm is over. The wind is whispering; the snow has begun to fall._

This is the quickening.

_We are on the precipice. There is nowhere to go but_ down.

-)o(o)o(-

What followed Sinistra's birth is, in my mind, nothing but a series of shattered blurs. I was not there—it had not been my eyes that captured Rath's desperation, the Star Princess' determination. I had a role to fulfill and dying on the mountain was not a part of it. So I lingered in shadow, safe and distant. I did not see his blood, feel the manic swell and fall of their power. I did not feel the cold steel press of his blade. I did not feel death; I did not feel the snow. I used to wake from nightmares dreaming that I had. Somehow, knowing that I sat far away and warm made it only feel worse.

Things have become skewed, I'm sure. I was given broken reports from Sinistra, from you, even from the Hime herself. I took shards of memory from the clone. It was a puzzle, blood-stained and missing pieces, edgeless, blank. If the truth is not as I remember it, forgive me. We were all in the darkness those nights.

I had known, before I had ever heard his voice in my dream, where Rath was heading. I had known from the day the Star Princess had revealed the future to me. And knowing that he was going to be there—that I could be there in an instant and stand before him—stirred something in me. I knew that I could not make a move to interrupt fate (it was far too late for that) but I knew that I could not stop myself completely. Not when there was so much laid bare before me. Not when so many pieces were lining up on the board, preparing for the descent to checkmate.

It was easy to make him, that clone. Frighteningly easy actually, taking only a dash of Sinistra's power, another of my own, a few drops of blood. We forged him in quiet, beneath the castle: a wraith of milk white skin in the inky blackness, luminous ivory feathers, lilac strands of hair as fine as spider webs ghosting across a delicate, pale face.

The universe, they say, was made in seven days. I was re-made in four.

He opened my light eyes, bleary and shuttered against the ambient luster of his own clothing, ki.

"Hm," my voice chuckled in the darkness, from his throat, "my favorite cloak pin. How considerate of you to give it to me."

"It suits you."

He smiled softly, standing in a rustle of white fabric that was as familiar as the beating of my heart. Our hearts. "You wouldn't have bought it if it hadn't."

Sinistra wound to stand beneath us, leaning her head up into our mirrored touches. Her amethyst eyes locked with his (mine) and something pasted between them that I was not privy to.

**You know already then, what you were born for?**

"To die. But we are all born for that."

I could not stop a shudder—not at his voice: it was my own—but at his words and the innate knowledge of his purpose. Gil, Rath, Nadil's minions: they would all be there on the mountain, all with reason to strike me down. Why would I send him, if there was no chance of death? And I, he, knew it. _Knew_ it in a way that I had never meant him too. To dream the sentience of a clone was one thing—to face it was it another.

If I went in his place, how long would it have taken you to notice? I rarely used my power in front of you, and the clone was easily capable of simple magics. He would smile as often as I would; he would be just as careless. I had designed him flawlessly, so that Rath would not be able to tell the difference—I never imagined that _I_ might not be able to tell difference.

It was as simple as thinking _I'm real_… except, at the time, it didn't seem so simple. It was a blessing that he accepted his inferiority without question, because the sudden thought having to handle myself was exhausting. Would I have accepted my role so easily, had I been in his place? I think I would have fought that fate tooth and nail, fruitless battle or not. I could have forced him to go if he'd refused, but he accepted it all with a smile. As much as it frightens me to admit, I think he was braver than I was. If it meant he got to see, hear, touch the Rath he knew from my memories, he was ready to accept death. I wasn't. I'm still not.

Sinistra coughed a mirthful canine laugh from between us. Whether she was laughing at my thoughts, his, or simply in joy at the fact that there was now another pair of hands to scratch her, I wasn't sure.

**Come now, let us find the small one.** Sinistra always had an aversion to your name. She had told me once that it was a shadowed thing, confused in your mind with pain and pride. I should have given you a new one, she told me, a proper one, at the very beginning. The nickname she had chosen for you instead made me giggle, but she meant it lovingly. I suppose, in a way, the name was deserved. She was nearly as tall as you when she lifted her head.

I think I was as eager as Sinistra was to present the clone to you. Or maybe "eager" was not the word. I was anxious: not only to see your reaction, but from a subtle fear. Would you be able to tell us apart? My mind said you would not, and that that was a good thing—if we could fool you, who had spent so long by my side, it would be effortless to fool Rath. But something in my throat was welling, caught and clenched between my teeth. I knew you would not be able to tell us apart… I wanted you to tell us apart.

The sun was warm on my face when we climbed at last from the depths of the dark laboratory. A breeze, steady and slow and carrying the smell of the ocean ruffled identical plumes of lilac hair.

"Garfakcy?" I called, chorused by an identical voice. "Garfakcy!" I thought you were close, but it had taken us a good ten minutes of hunting the corridors to even come within hearing distance of you. "Would you come here?" It was a cross between normal speech and a shout.

"Coming," you sounded less than pleased, and Sinistra shook out her fur in pleasure at the sound. I think she was expecting another of your famous explosions. The Left Beast could be decadently malicious when she wanted to be. "What do you need," you came around the nearest corner with a broom over your shoulder, "Master Kha…rl…"

There was a moment of dead silence. There was another moment of dead silence. Green shifted between two pairs of lilac eyes.

"No," you said in a deathly calm voice. In slow and measured movements, you turned on your heel and walked away. "There is dust in my eyes. There is—" The rest of your words were lost underneath Sinistra's ringing barks. I think, if she had not had so much dignity, the spirit manipulator would have rolled right over and cackled herself silly on the marble tiles.

"Oh shut up Shinisu," the double tried to insist between giggles of our own.

Somewhere down the corridor, there came the repeated slamming of flesh on stone. It happened to be, I discovered as we caught up with you a few seconds later, your forehead meeting the granite wall.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" Ooh, delayed reaction. "Master Kharl—" you looked between us and your grip on the broom handle looked tight enough to shatter the wood. "You better have a good explanation for this." I was very glad at that minute that you were not a demon… That green glare was scary enough without any fangs to back it up.

"It's very simple really—" the clone began, smile just as mischievous as my own.

"—just a bit of duplication magic!" I finished.

"Which one of you is the real one?" I think there actually were indents in the broom handle now.

"Which one of us…" The clone tapped his bottom lip with a white-gloved finger. "Well, that would depend on your definition of _real_, wouldn't it?" Sinistra was panting in an effort to get her breath back. "Now if you were to ask which of us was the _original_…"

Something dangerous sparked across your face before the ash burst into shimmers around your free hand.

"Master Kharl…" It sounded more like one of Sinistra's growls than real words, low and deadly. I think my chuckles must have sounded nervous.

"I'm the original," I waved placatingly, dispelling the ash and encouraging you to release the helpless broom.

"You couldn't tell us apart Garfakcy," the clone sighed, "I'm hurt." Just as I would have done, he made light of my worries, writing off the underlying fear with exaggeration. But even that couldn't drive away the awkwardness of standing beside myself and knowing that it wasn't as simple as I'd made it sound. He was a living, breathing demon—wearing my appearance so well that even the person I trusted most could not find the flaw.

Perhaps that's what startled me: there was no flaw.

You growled in response to the clone's pleasant mockery, turning to level that caustic green gaze on me. "And why, exactly, did you feel the need to do _this_?!" You pointed at the double, hand shaking in barely suppressed frustration. "One of you is _more_ than enough…" you groaned under your breath.

"Not for this, it's not," I answered, keeping the turmoil from my voice. "I need to send you some place the Hime has forbidden me from going." _Where I could go but won't. _

"Huh?" Your green eyes opened wide in interest, that familiar fire lighting behind them. "Where?"

"To Emphaza," the clone murmured, leaning easily against a marble column, half way in and out of the hallway shadows, "where the Star Princess, Cesia, Rath and Gil are all gathered." Sinistra had long since sobered, and stood beside him like a breathing pool of darkness.

"Rath… Gil?" You looked between us for a second, torn between confusion and ire. "What's going on _there_?" A clear desire to know what secrets I was keeping etched itself onto your face and would not leave, even after I shook my head, dismissing the question.

"Why don't we talk about this over tea?" I felt the first stirrings of a headache waking just behind my temple.

"Oh, can we have lavender tea?" the double asked through a smile, pushing himself up from the column to walk beside me down the corridor and toward the tea room.

"I always make lavender tea," Garfakcy started grumpily, "it's—"

"Our favorite!" the clone and I laughed, flashing identical grins in your direction. Throwing your hands up in abject fury, you stomped off in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen, muttering to yourself all the way.

"One of them has got to go—and right about now, I don't really care which one!"

Sinistra's huffing laughs continued all the way into the tea room.

The chamber was bright, lit by the high and crystalline-cut windows facing the sea. When I took my usual seat, the double pulled a free armchair over to sit beside me, obligingly reaching down to stroke Sinistra's ears. I tried not to be jealous that she would sit with a double over me, but a quiet stare from her amethyst eyes made the feeling seem petty. _I_ wasn't going to my death.

"So then Hime-sama has finished the replacement Wind Staff…" In the soft golden light of the tea room, the double looked tired—as tired as I felt.

"It seems that way. She'll give the staff to Cesia and the stage will be set for the end." I traced floral patterns on my chair with an idle finger.

**The end?** Sinistra laughed again, but now it was cold and hollow. **Shame that it won't be.** The clone's hand was stiff and tensed on her head, white glove stark against midnight fur.

"It's almost poetic." I leaned back in my seat, eyes moving to watch sun spots and the shadows of leaves dance on the tea room walls. "Emphaza… where the Wind Dragon slept… where Gil was born… where Rath will die."

The clone said nothing in reply, lilac eyes half-lidded and vacant as he withdrew into his own thoughts.

"What will you tell Garfakcy?" he said at last, still not looking up at me.

"What I always tell him."

**Nothing.** Sinistra crossed her paws, growling softly.

There was a long moment of silence while I searched for some way to refute her—the problem was that I couldn't. The truth was hard enough to share when I had no choice; to give it freely to you would have broken something indescribable between us. Any trust you had for me, least of all.

"In a situation like this, you won't be able to get away with telling him nothing." A hard lilac stare bored into my eyes (how odd to be on the end of one of my own glares!) and he did not look away. "I imagine the situation is going to be utterly uncontrollable on the mountain. If you are not careful, his life will be in danger."

"His life was in danger the moment—" My less than pleasant comment was cut off by your sudden entry, and you pushed the tea cart into the room with effortless familiarity. Snowy bone china shimmered dully in the sunlight, as did your impossibly hard green eyes. Without a word, you served the tea. None of the frustration and curiosity that was surely running rampant in your mind showed through in your measured, graceful movements; you never had and never would spill a single drop.

The double took the steaming cup gingerly in his hand, softly breathing in the calming scent of lavender and citrus.

"My first taste of Garfakcy's tea," he murmured, and then added even more quietly, "I feel like I've always had it." He made a move to bring the cup to his lips only to be unrepentantly slapped over the head by you.

"Don't drink it yet stupid, you'll burn your tongue," you groused, and I watched with a sense of fear and wonder. How many times had I sat in that very same chair, over the very tea, and been slapped in the very same manner? It was like watching a moment of our lives from the outside—frightening but simultaneously amazing. Was _my_ smile really that carefree?

"I'm so thirsty I wouldn't mind burning my tongue right this moment," he said—and they were my words, in the same laughing tone I always said them.

"Well then, go right ahead. I won't have any sympathy when you complain later." It was the line that Garfakcy always said—but this time it came from my mouth, startling everyone in the room, myself included.

The clone's momentary happiness vanished like a candle being blown out, and he settled back stiffly in his chair as if the familiar scene had not been played out at all. Your confusion lapsed into impatience as silence settled over us, and huffing, you threw yourself onto a footstool and frowned sharply in my direction.

"Would you mind telling me what is going on _now_?" You snatched and bit viciously into a crumpet from the tea tray.

The brush of Sinistra's power pushed against my mind, and I knew that she was talking—but the words were not for me. I watched the clone's white-gloved fingers tighten around the china teacup before his face lifted in the brightest—and most false—grin I knew how to make.

"Shinisu, will you show me around the castle? I want to see it with my own eyes." He stood without waiting for my blessing, and with Sinistra at his heels, crossed the chamber in a swirl of white. Stopping in the doorway, he lifted a lilac eyebrow and smiled in a knowing manner.

**Be careful with what you say, but do not say too little.** Sinistra's omnipotent voice rang in my head while they vanished completely, flashes of ivory and breathing darkness.

Steeling myself, I took a sip of the hot tea, feeling the sting on the back of my throat. You tapped a foot impatiently against one of the clawed wooden legs of the ottoman.

"Garfakcy," I chose the words carefully, "Rath has left Lykouleon's protective barrier. He and Cesia have both gone to Emphaza in search of a way to resurrect Crewger."

"There's something there that can bring things back to life?"

_Yes and…_ "No." I loosened my stiff grip on the pale teacup. "Nadil set guardians there to distract his enemies. Clearly it had more effect than he expected. It would be quite simple for Shydeman and Shyrendora to snatch Cesia away beneath our noses."

"What are you saying?" I could see the pieces falling into place behind your eyes. I was momentarily reminded that you were so much older than you looked. "I hope you're not expecting me to protect that prissy princess and that Dragon."

"Unfortunately, that is exactly what I am expecting." I looked away to avoid your glare. "Ironically enough, Nadil's minions chose Gil to guard the mountain. That will be, unfortunately for them, a serious flaw in their plans. I need you to keep him distracted…" My words trailed off as I imagined the battles a few nights' time would bring. "If Gil faces Rath unaddled… I'm not sure who would win."

"I can't believe Gil is still alive," you muttered, leaning dangerously far backward on the stool to stare blindly at the tea room ceiling.

"I doubt he is the same boy we knew."

"Good." A flash of something dark slipped across your face as you spoke.

"Gil is apparently guarding the mountain furiously—Cesia, at the very least, must make it past him."

"Why?" You tore your eyes from the carvings on the ceiling to stare at me as if you could read secrets off my forehead. I sipped my tea instead of answering. Half expecting you to press for a reply, I was surprised when you moved to contemplate your own teacup in silence.

"And why the double?" you asked finally.

"Shydeman and Shyrendora will, undoubtedly, be there. I'm sure you'd rather not have to deal with them alone."

"I could run circles around them in the dark." You swilled the sienna tea pensively.

"It will be very dark there," I muttered against the hot china rim of my cup. "And there is no love lost between you, Gil, and Rath. It will be boiling pot of enemies."

"Hmph." I wondered for a moment if you were angry with me. It would be just like you to see the clone as a personal insult, as if I didn't trust you enough to handle the mission alone. Was that the case? I caught myself thinking that it wasn't—but perhaps it was true, and I didn't think you, a little human, could manage the maelstrom that was sure to be brewing on the mountain.

No, it wasn't a lack of trust by any means… It was perhaps that I trusted you to follow my _whims_ too well. Especially in this case, with the future of our world hinging on the events to come, my whims absolutely could _not_ come to pass. I couldn't let you go alone and do just what _I_ would want.

"Listen Garfakcy… it would not be unfortunate for us if Gil were able to kill Rath. Neither would it be a loss if Rath killed Gil." How was I to know you would take those passing words to heart? I never imagined you would take that as blessing to drive Gil to near madness in his pursuit of my son. But that was just it, wasn't it? You knew that I still wanted Rath, and you never did fail an order.

"Please understand, your and Sinistra's safety is extremely important to me. I wouldn't send a double with you if it wasn't. If the situation gets out of hand, you two are to return here immediately."

"And the clone?"

"If worse comes to worse," I said, "leave him behind."

Crossing your arms and then uncrossing them as if you couldn't quite choose how to sit, a decadent grin lit on your face. There was that dark edge to you that always appeared before bloodshed, and I knew you were anticipating Emphaza far more than I was.

"When will we go?"

"Tomorrow night. Rath and Cesia will have arrived by then."

You nodded in response, tapping your teacup's handle with a disinterested finger. Shadows of leaves danced over the walls, and for a long time, we sat silently, listening to the distant songs of birds. On the abandoned seat beside me, my double's untouched tea cooled.

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Breakfast the next morning was the perhaps the oddest meal the castle had ever seen. Between the double and I asking you to pass the syrup (the napkins, the juice, the oranges, so on) at exactly the same time, and discovering that not only did we eat the same things, but that we ate the same things in the same proportions (resulting in more that one squabble over who would have the next waffle), you looked ready to murder right there over the strawberry jam.

Needless to say, both the double and I made ourselves scarce after breakfast. I retreated to the library as quickly as I could, curling up in an armchair and losing myself in a history of Hyuray.

_…last bastion of the Light Flower in the dark times before the fall of…_

Undoubtedly, the clone evaded you throughout the day as well. I heard Sinistra barking distantly more than once. Still, all too quickly, the day bled into twilight, and I called you with an ash spell to the main hall.

The double, as if having read my thoughts (or perhaps having had them himself), was already waiting, leaning on the mantle over the grand fireplace like he had lived there decades. The soft fire behind him stained his cloak red-orange, shadowing his face until his eyes were only pools of luminous white, staring unwaveringly at me. Sinistra stretched out before him, a misshapen puddle of shadow. The unending _tick-tick_ of the clock on the wall was the only sound that split our silence.

"When you get there," I murmured as you joined us at last, "look for the Star Princess." You grumbled a bit, as if you'd rather look for Nadil himself. "If she is not ready to perform her piece of the story, there is no sense in us acting." I pulled at the seam of my white glove. "She may be… adverse to your presence. Tell her that you are simply there… to be of service." Your grumbling increased, slipping over your face as a childish pout.

"Remember what I told you," I warned. "Cesia must be made to act according to the plan. And you all must stay out of Rath's way." For a minute it looked like you might press your "why?", but you shut your mouth with a gentle click of teeth against teeth. From his place before the fire, the clone narrowed my lilac eyes, looking between us slowly. An unspoken question played among his fangs for a moment, and I answered it with my own wavering gaze. _Garfakcy won't disobey my orders._ But there was a lilting voice in the back of my head, whispering…

"Are you ready?" I met your green stare again and you nodded sharply. "Then go." Instantly you stood, turning to look back at the double. Sinistra rose to her paws, shaking the long fur of her dark mane.

"Go on," the double stared at me as he spoke to you. "I'll be with you in a minute." Your emerald eyes darted between us for a few seconds, but when I made no move to stop you, you shrugged one metal-coated shoulder. In a soft cloud of ash, you and Sinistra vanished from me.

Silence, heavy and dark, stretched out between the double and I. At last, he lifted himself from the mantle, crossing before the quiet fire to stand shoulder to shoulder with me. I did not turn my head to look at him, and he did not look at me. For a long moment, I thought he would laugh or curse me. I could feel the empty smile on his lips; it was mirrored on my own.

"Should I bring him home?" The double's voice was stifling, a breath of sadness and newly-born, quickly-dying dreams. I did not need to ask who he was talking about. _Should I bring _Rath_ home?_

How could he ask such a thing? How could he ask, knowing all that I knew, had done, would do? I could feel the empty smile on his lips. And what was I to say? Everything in my heart, every beat of the blood in my (his) veins was screaming _yes_.

"No," I whispered, "no." I could go no further, could not justify or ignore the desperation crying in the back of my mind.

What answer was he looking for, expecting? What answer would he have given, in my place? I'll never know. Instead the white glove on his hand rose to fist in the loose collar of my cloak. It was the barest of touches, a ghost of my own fragile hand, gone as soon as I realized it was there. The brief connection stung, as if some of his sadness, the knowledge of his death, had wrapped cold tendrils around my heart in the half-second, one half-tick of the clock on the wall, that we had been aligned. I might have shivered, I might have laughed—I couldn't hear anything but my own thoughts.

"Good-bye," he said, shattering my disquietude.

"Good-bye."

His disappearance was utterly silent, no flash of light, wave of power, tolling of the clock's bells to signal his leaving the world. For a long while I stood still, feeling his hand—my hand—on me. The clock ticked slowly, relentlessly on. When I turned at last to leave the room, a single white feather danced across the marble floor. From where I stood, before the fire, I cast formless shadow over half of chamber, over the white-grey tile, over his (my) feather. In my darkness, it gleamed brightly.

I left the room with the ghost of his smile in my mind and wisps of the future tightening around my throat.

-)o(o)o(-

It was a nervous six hours on my part as I waited for some word from your end. At last, a shimmer of ash and white light blurred up before me, painting a monochrome picture of you in the air. You were sitting on a chair that didn't make the transmission, one knee propped up and a frustrated look on your face.

"We met up with your pretty princess," you snarled, without waiting for me to say hello. I set the book I had been trying (and failing) to concentrate on aside.

"So then she's finished it…"

"She wouldn't tell me anything except that she needs another two days. And she's got a damn bodyguard now!" You pointed to a bruise on your face that I hadn't even noticed. "Apparently he wasn't too happy with us demanding an audience with the Hime."

"I hope you didn't use violence to get around him." A sudden flash of a rather unpleasant battle went through my mind, and the thought of the Star Princess getting caught between her guardian and your anger sent a spark of worry down my spine.

"Che…" You looked away. "I didn't hit the guy. Your double stepped in and explained things." A glint of displeasure marred your face. "I don't like how he has your memory…"

"An unfortunate necessity." I shifted to lean back in my chair, tapping idly at the lacquered table under my white gloves. "How are the other players in our little drama?"

"Rath and Cesia are staying at an inn at the foot of Emphaza. Conviently enough, Gil's there too. Apparently he's related to the old innkeep?" What should have a statement came across as a question, and your green eyes focused on me with barely concealed curiosity. An old man related to Gil? Not his father—he'd been alone with his younger brother all those years ago. All those years ago…

"_Na Barl, clumsy little brothers should look at their feet, not the birds."_

Suspicion, like a metal tang, crept up my throat. Gil was ageless; his younger brother was not. Undoubtedly Shydeman and Shyrendora had sent him to Emphaza… but to send him back to his family? It seemed cruel. And then crueler still, as I thought of his younger brother's aged face and Gil's once beautiful smile—the smile that I broke.

When I made no attempt to answer your questions, you slumped back in the invisible chair, movement sending sparkles of ash off your translucent form like dust rising off a long immobile statue. "Shydeman and Shyrendora are holed up here like the rats they are, and the Blue Officer is here too. Rath, Cesia, and… what's his name?" You blinked.

"Kaistern." The word came out only a little choked, a little black with hatred and the memory of bloody snow.

"Yeah, yeah." You waved a dismissive hand as if you'd expected me not to know. "He's trying to get up the mountain too, and then there's Rath and Cesia, sneaking around like spies... And," a malicious smile darted across your lips, "Gil's not too happy about intruders on his mountain."

"They've already tried to reach the cave?" My teeth clenched of their own accord, painfully.

"All three of them. Shinisu went and distracted Rath and Cesia, but I figured I'd let the Blue Officer get up to Gil." You chuckled quietly, and I could barely restrain a sneer. I hoped Gil would kill that interfering, foolish, cowardly—the insults could have gone on forever.

"There's no point in Cesia and Rath reaching the cave if the Star Princess isn't there to meet them."

"You didn't even need to tell me that." Pride and impatience tinged your voice.

"And where," I wondered suddenly, "is my double?"

"Oh who the hell knows?! He won't listen to me! He's probably off 'exploring'." You lifted your fingers in mock quotations. "I don't like him at all Master Kharl, and just so you know—"

"Let it go Garfakcy. He's really there as more of a precaution than anything."

"Hmph," you muttered, crossing one arm over the other.

"Report to me again as soon as Rath and Cesia make further movements."

"Yes Master Kharl." You straightened in your seat. "Good night." The transmission flickered as you unwound it.

"Sleep well Garfakcy."

That night, I dreamt of Gil.

-)o(o)o(-

_"Why won't you love me?" The taut caramel line of his jaw in my pale hand jerks again, shaking desperately to escape my grip. "It's not a complicated thing Gil."_

_"Take me home, please." He's given up demanding, and he's broken in now, domesticated enough to beg. "I _need_ to go home." His voice is hoarse and quiet, a rasp and a childish crack. He won't mention his brother to me—he is afraid I'll hurt the little boy too. _

_"You are home Gil. You are home." If I repeat it enough times, it will become our truth. His golden eye, ringed with circles of darkness because he is afraid to sleep, dart between me and the stone door behind us. I can almost feel his thoughts crawling along my skin, cold and wet and thick as blood. _No Gil, you can't escape. I won't let you leave my side.

_His clothing is torn again, claw-size swaths cutting through the fabric and his nutshell skin below._

_"Stop this. There's no reason." My hand releases his face to fist in his tattered sleeve. He pulls away again, pushing himself farther into the corner of the room. "You're going to scar yourself."_

_"They won't stay." His hands are shaking, claws sinking into the stone beneath his palms. He is looking away, not speaking to me. "The marks won't stay. They just… You made me this way. You made me a _monster_!" His entire body shakes with fury, tightens with fear. "I hate you." He won't look at me. _

_Bitterness and displeasure fight in my chest, pressing painfully hard against my heart. How dare he? After all I intended for him—I take a single deep breath, pushing my macabre thoughts away. He is like a stubborn child who needs to be coaxed, pampered, killed with kindness._

_"I brought you a book about birds. You like birds, don't you?"_

_"N-No." It is a lie, but there is force behind it, as if it will soon be true. Suddenly he finds strength I thought long gone, and lunges forward to slam the book from my hand, claws raking across my wrist and raising thin red lines instantly. "I don't want to read! I don't want to love you! I don't want to be this way! Let me go, _now_."_

_Youki, dark and hot, rises again in the room, and the black expanse of pupil in his open eye contracts to a slit. The force of the power he has no idea how to control sets his purple hair on end; his fangs catch and bury in his bottom lip. _

_"Stop it Gil," I warn._

_"_No_. If you won't let me go, I'll kill you and walk out over your corpse."_

_Where is the sweet boy who had smiled like an angel in the far North? How can this monster be him, the one I had meant to take beneath my wings? "I don't want to hurt you."_

_"You already have." And I know that it will not be as simple as pushing him back—because that scarred eye slides open, all darkness and death and stinging like salt on an open wound. _

_Gil howls as his bones shift beneath stretching muscle. A russet pelt rips through his dark skin like fire rolling uncontrolled, and it is only moments before the demon cat stands before me. The fur along his spine rises to stand on end._

_Without another word, though I know his demon form can speak, he pounds against the floor, jaws opening wide to close around my throat. _

_"Must it always come to this?" I step back easily, using ki to repel the claws he heaves toward my face. _

_As I have done every day prior, I bury my own hand into fur between his ears, holding him back as he strains to tear me in two. The ash spell hardly seems to need my acknowledgement to flicker to life, silting, grey and dim, into his eyes, nose, mouth. The poison in it goes to work immediately._

_Within seconds, Gil's monstrous form collapses against me, his power draining away as swiftly as a puddle in the desert. The ash spell in his system slows his brain function to a crawl, until even the blinking of his scarred eye is drawling and the slit pupil dilates impossibly far. His demonic form slips off of him like a disguise, leaving the torn and bloody form of a young boy in my arms. The poison was too strong, perhaps, and it sends tremors through his body as it mangles his nervous system…or maybe—and Gil's unscarred eye is half-lidded but shaking in its socket—the shivers are more from terror and shock than the ash._

_"Don't be afraid. It's all right." I try to smile, knowing the hopeful look and words before it are both lies. The focus dies in Gil's eye, and he chokes out some little noise around the numbing magic. Mustering the strength left in him, he picks up a hand and tries to scratch at my face. The blow is weak, like the brush of a kitten's paw, and his palm is cold where traces my cheek._

_For a moment, he is the older brother again, gentle and quiet and content. He is everything I hoped he would be, for a single moment. I trace the jagged mark across his closed eye, hesitantly brushing purple bangs from his face. A soft rumble starts low in his throat, a cat's purr—and I can tell he doesn't want to make the sound._

_"I only wanted you to love me." The words are harder to say than ever before—and I wonder if maybe it is because I mean them more now. My hand sinks from his face to press against the cool tile beneath us, and the chill is a relief and a distraction._

_"I'm not an animal," he chokes._

_And I can't help but wish he was._

-)o(o)o(-

**Experiment 8918-K: "Replica"**

**Recovered Memory Feather 8**

**(Handle with care) **

I could feel her power the moment we reached Emphaza, and it rang through me as clear and sharp as a bell. Ignoring the squawks of my—no, of Kharl's—assistant, I took a barely worn path up the mountain, Shinisu winding silently at my heels. The dark leaves of the forest, glinting dully in the twilight, seemed strange and foreign. It might have been because I had never seen leaves until my birth a few days ago, but I think it was that they were flora of the Northern continents: thicker, hardier than the fair-weather foliage on Arinas.

Regardless, the forest seemed the wrong place to meet such a gentle woman. From the Alchemist's memories, I know her to be fragile but deceiving, impossibly strong but endlessly kind. She did not disappoint me in the slightest.

I pushed aside the last of the branches crossing over the path, and immediately the glimmer on her hair in the last traces on sunlight and the shadows playing over her white dress caught my eye. She stood with her back to us, and did not turn, even when I made my presence more than apparent.

"Hey lady!" Garfakcy caught up and stood beside me, and his call finally made her stir. She turned to gaze over her shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of roseate irises before a sudden blaze of power and a flash of green cut off my view.

"What the hell?!" You pushed your arm up from your face, forcing back the sheathed sword that had tried to come down on your head. Effortlessly, the wielder of a sword—a green-haired man with equally green eyes—leapt back, slipping into a protective stance before the Hime.

"Grinfish," she fisted a hand in the man's sleeve, "please stop. They are not my enemies." But by all means, shouldn't we have been? The man's green eyes narrowed even further, but then a quiet, inexplicable smile swept across his face.

"Your mother would be upset if she knew the company you kept." His smile didn't fall, even as he spoke.

For a moment, it looked like the Hime would reply—but she only sighed, drifting from behind him to stand between us. "You… You're not the Lord Alchemist."

"He felt that his actual presence here would not be… prudent. I am a double sent in his place." Discomfort settled like sediment in her roseate eyes. "You won't find me lacking." At last, she crossed the distance between us to catch my arm, as she had done with Kharl at their last meeting.

"Why has he sent you?" It was not reproach tingeing her voice, but it might as well have been.

"To be of aide to you, Hime-sama." I couldn't help the slight smile that picked at the corners of my mouth—a smile that only grew stronger when her guardian made a noise of disapproval. "With the least amount of interference as possible, of course. And I do solemnly swear to stay away from Rath." It was a lie, and I think she knew that. Nevertheless, the bare traces of skepticism that had marred her brow eased away, and she seemed genuinely relieved.

"So then, are we in agreement?" I grinned in the green-haired man's direction as I spoke to her. "Allies?"

"Of course." Her soft pink eyes glimmered in the last traces of twilight.

-)o(o)o(-

It had just begun to lighten with the coming of dawn when you woke me. And I can tell you, from experience, waking to the sight of a transparent person standing in the middle of one's bedroom, particularly a rather frustrated person, can be most disconcerting.

"Garfakcy?!" I sat up in bed, pushing aside a mountain of blankets.

"The situation is—" you paused, and I could see you mentally searching for the right word, "—worse that you told me to expect."

"What now?" I fell back against my throw pillows, feeling lingering bitterness from my dream of Gil and the first pound of a headache from lack of sleep.

"Shyrendora and Shydeman have Gil under some sort of mind control. They've given him…" Another pause, and I was beginning to wonder what sort of editing you had done to this story before telling it to me. "They've turned him against you completely. He seems to think he can get 'revenge' by killing you. And he didn't seem aware at all that Shyrendora and Shydeman are manipulating his every action."

"What did you say to him?"

Your ash-silver face split in a wicked smile. "Nothing you wouldn't have wanted me to say. Just gave him a few things to think about." Errantly, you waved your hand around, scattering shimmering trails of ash through the air. "It's just my job to get him confused, right? I hardly have to do a thing—his mind is a mess from Shyrendora's boorish work."

"They always did put speed before artistry." The tasseled edge of a throw pillow danced as I let out a heavy, huffing breath. "Continue as you have," I muttered. "It's best if Gil faces Rath with a completely shattered picture of the situation." I couldn't have the boy thinking clearly. If he were to question Shyrendora's control or your intervention at all, it would lead to more trouble than I—and the tremulous future the Star Princess was building—needed to face.

"He didn't kill the Blue Dragon officer either. I saw the guy slouching off after Gil left him for dead."

I think there might have been a visible pout on my face. "Gil can never do anything the way I want, can he?"

"I don't know why you didn't kill Gil at the very start." A hint of old grievances flashed across your luminous face.

I didn't answer, because I knew my reply would have made you furious. _You _can't_ hurt the people you love Garfakcy. _Instead, I simply shook my head dismissively, as if I didn't know myself why I had not destroyed Gil like I destroyed all my other failed experiments.

"Everything else is fine? Sinistra has nothing to add after seeing Rath?"

Suddenly her long snout pushed into the transmission, fur outlined as a dusting of silver. **Rath is... **her eyes narrowed in thought, **very beautiful. I do not think I have or will ever come across another soul like his. There are a thousand tiny facets to it. I wish I could have lingered longer to inspect him.**

"I suppose he has your approval then, Shinisu?" Something like relief coursed through me, though I have no idea why I had been anxious.

For a long moment, there was silence from your end, and the only movement was your hand flickering through her mane.

**I can see why you want to get him away from the Dragons. They are an insult to his capability**, she said at last. There was a flicker in her translucent eye that said we should talk about it later, when my replies would not be overheard. Though you were never capable of hearing Sinistra, that did not mean you could not gather the nature of our conversation from my words alone.

"Has my double returned yet?"

"I'm here!" a cheery voice called just before the clone pushed his way into the sphere of transmission as well.

"Get off!" you growled from where you were crushed between his shoulder and Sinistra's side. The clone, of course, ignored you completely.

"And I was not 'exploring' Garfakcy," he sniffed in mock indignation. "I was talking some more with the Hime and her guardian. She's rather fond of the Blue Dragon Officer." His lilac eyes caught and held mine for a long moment. "Apparently Kaistern is here looking for a way to save Rath from death."

"So then it's just as the Saffron Officer said…" Rath's warring dragon and demon bloods, along with the waning power of the Light Dragon, were slowly causing the collapse of Illuser's body.

"But Kaistern still believes he's seeking the Wind Dragon. Undoubtedly the Hime's message will strike a serious blow to him, when she is finally ready to deliver it." The clone's smile sank a little.

"Why does she need another day?" I sat up a bit, disentangling myself from the sponge of pillows attempting to absorb me.

The double's smile faded entirely, and he shook his head slowly. "She's too pure for all of this."

That was the only answer he gave me, and the last words I ever heard him speak. You shoved Sinistra and the double away with an incensed huff, and cut the transmission off with "Are we done now? Good."

"Good-bye!" I called, but the ash was already breaking apart and disappearing like trails of smoke in the air.

-)o(o)o(-

**Experiment 8918-K: "Replica"**

**Recovered Memory Feather 12**

**(Handle with care)**

"Grinfish has gone to watch Kaistern and Gil." The Hime turned to me, rose locks drifting in waves stark against her ivory dress.

"And what will you do, Princess?"

"I believe… that I am ready. Will you accompany me to the cavern where Hayate once slept?"

"Of course, my lady." I reached to take the hand she offered, and the soft brush of her fingers against mine seemed suddenly tragic. From Kharl's memory I had known her to be a gentle, overly pure creature—but meeting her for myself made that image a thousand times sharper. She was beyond gentleness, beyond purity. She was a being that was wholly too perfect for our world, and every moment she lingered beside me, I felt as if I was polluting something precious.

She only smiled softly, glimmering in the darkness that cloaked us.

With a simple spell for distraction, I turned Nadil's minions away from us. I take the credit for it, but I think the Hime's magic had more to do with it than I did. She seemed to have an aura of protection that followed her wherever she went.

The cavern itself pulsed softly with ancient magic—the gale of magic that Kharl had felt years ago, when he had first come to Yuba. _The Wind Dragon…_ A force of strength unparalleled in this world, even by the Dragon Tribe's pride, Deus. Standing in the white stone cave felt like standing in the eye of a storm, surrounded on each side by an impossible wind, spinning infinitely on. There was a dead sort of stillness to the room, not even the barest hint of breeze in the air that we breathed.

But the cavern seemed to glow of its own accord, emanating pure white light that was simply _right_. The Star Princess settled, with more grace than I thought possible, onto a rock shelf cut, as if purposefully, in the far wall. For a long moment I simply stood beside her, lilac eyes tracing the white cloth covering the replacement Wind Staff. I wanted to ask to see it, but something told it was not my place. The creation of that staff was between Kharl and the princess, and it felt like a personal ikon of theirs.

For a long we sat in silence, each of lost in thoughts that neither of us wished to upset. At last, she turned roseate eyes on me, and there was a deep sadness in them at stabbed at something inside me.

"Will you take a message to the Lord Alchemist for me?" Her voice was almost tremulous, so quiet it did not echo in the room.

"Of course," I said, but my smile was empty. She was so trusting of me—believed so thoroughly in Kharl that she never thought to second guess my promise, never thought that I might make some bid to see Rath, to interfere with the situation. She was too sweet to think about the fact that the world did not need another Alchemist; that I was not born to last forever.

"Tell him that I…" She looked away, staring into the black tunnel entrance. "I will miss him."

"Consider your message delivered. I know he will be pleased to hear it. And I know that he will miss you as well. You are a dear—" I stopped suddenly, unsure of to finish. What was she to Kharl? An acquaintance, a precious ally? "You are a dear friend to him."

She gave me a genuine, warm smile that I treasured long after it left her face.

Briefly, I wondered what was going on outside the cavern. The last radiance of Hayate's power prevented me from easily sensing other ki, but I could make out the flares of Rath and Gil's powers, slamming and dancing into and around each other. Garfakcy had followed the plan, and Cesia would be on her way up the mountain.

It was only minutes later that Grinfish slipped into the cave, green eyes sparking with his own version of quiet interest and determination.

"Princess, they will be here soon," he bowed lightly as he approached her.

"I know, I sense them as well." If she could actually feel them, her power went far beyond what I had expected. Even now, as Cesia came nearer to the entrance of the cave, I could only feel the barest trace of her demonic aura.

"I must tell them the truth about the Wind Dragon… and the Wind Dragon Knight."

"Shall I remove a certain pair of obstacles in Cesia's path?" I stood straighter, looking between the princess and her guardian with new purpose.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"I will go with you," the green-haired man's eyes were still cool when they swept over me.

"Of course." In a swill of white and black, we turned away from the princess's luminous cavern and walked together into the darkness.

Shydeman and Shyrendora were haunting the tunnels near the entrance of the cave, their long silver hair shining despite the poor light. All Kharl's memories of them were thick with disdain and displeasure, and I knew them only as he knew them—a pestilence to the name youkai, subservient and brutish minions of Nadil.

"Well," I chuckled loudly to my green-eyed companion, "the legends are true! This cave really is haunted by a hideous beast—Shyrendora, it's so nice to see you again."

"Alchemist!" she screeched rather than said, spinning on her stiletto heel to train light eyes on me. Shydeman pulled a restraining arm before her, and just as quickly as she had lost her composure, she regained it, dark expression easing away into a mockery of coyness. "Come to meddle in Lord Nadil's affairs, again?"

"You'd know more about meddling than I," I chuckled.

"What are you doing here?" Shydeman's narrow eyes darted between me and the princess's guardian. I could see his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides, as if he wished to engage me in battle there and then. But we were demons of decorum, and more than anything, youkai politics were—and will always be—a game of smiling faces and hidden blades to be buried in your foes' (who are also your allies) backs.

"I'm afraid I do not have the time to explain myself. There are some very important guests on their way, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Grinfish tensed at my words, hand sliding to the sheathed sword on his back. But it was hardly necessary: as soon as I had said the words, I had wrapped the twins in an undetectable ash spell, and just as Shydeman made a move to threaten us, the dust flared to life, rising in a cloud of grey feather shapes and freezing them in their places.

"I hear Draqueen is lovely this time of year," I joked to Grinfish, half to hide the sudden strain on my power as the twins identical demonic ki retaliated against the ash magic. Even if I had tried to hide it, the princess' guardian seemed to feel their strength threatening to overthrow mine, and instantly his own, incredibly strange, aura lit and flowed into the ash spell.

"Give my regards to Lykouleon, won't you?" I managed to chuckle over Shyrendora's hiss as the spell finished, flashing pure white and then fading away to nothing. There was not a single trace of Nadil's minions left behind. "That won't keep them away for long," I said to Grinfish, "but it will be long enough."

"Where do you intend to go now?" He had left his hand on the strap of the sword sheath, and made no move to let go now.

"My share of the story is done. I suppose I will just go home." Except that Kharl's castle was no home to me, and I had no intention of simply leaving.

Out of the cavern, I could feel Rath's spiritual power resonating inside me—and Gil's was waning quickly.

Grinfish nodded and followed me through the entrance of the cave, then slipped silently away, fading into the forest as if he had never existed at all. I could hear the approaching beat of Cesia's (and someone else's) footsteps, and as quietly as Grinfish, I vanished into the darkness of the mountain.

-)o(o)o(-

"Lord Kharl!" Your silvery ash form swirled up, stark in the dim light of the library. "Rath has engaged Gil. Cesia's gone off to the cave."

"Well done Garfakcy. How is Rath faring in the battle?" I took stock of you, noticing you were short of breath—and running somewhere even as you spoke with me.

"Not well," you muttered, hiding a smile that I did not miss. Something inside me tightened, and I wondered suddenly what you had said to Gil to provoke him. "But Gil lost the ability to turn into a cat. He killed his niece, and his horror weakened Shyrendora's mind control."

"Without his demonic form, Rath will destroy Gil easily."

"I'm looking forward to it." And your voice was darkness itself.

_"Who the hell do you think you are?!" A dread deeper than a well to the center of the world fills up in me, at the distant call of your voice—darker than darkness itself. I push from my desk, scattering papers but hardly caring as I ghost from the dim library. _

_There is something inside me screaming, saying I should have never let you down there, never let you near the demon boy named Gil—and there is something like horror close behind, horror for things I had never thought about until only a moment ago._

_"You don't even care!" _

_"Garfakcy!" I slam through the stone doorway, a shimmer of white and lilac. "Stop, now!"_

_But my words go ignored as you clench your slender fist again and drive it into the side of Gil's face. The maroon-haired boy makes a move to push you away, golden eye narrowing into a dangerous slit._

_"Go to hell," Gil spits, trying to pull himself upright with the edge of the table._

_Ash is in the air before I have time to make a move, and the tip of your blade buries itself in the nut-brown skin of his throat. That child's hand of yours is fisting in his hair, ripping him forward on to the false steel of your blade. A single drop of red rolls over the silver between you, and there is hell in your black-emerald eyes. _

_"Ungrateful… You ungrateful bastard." It's a serpent's hiss, low and cold with unbreakable fury. "You goddamn—!" _

_Gil is coughing hoarse laughter, like he's won a battle that hasn't begun. _

_Life jerks back into me and immediately I am moving, darting over the shattered porcelain plate on the floor, over a blood red apple and all the other food you had brought to Gil, not knowing…_

_You thrash against me as I pull you away from him, howling blindly in a rage that seems unending. And for a moment I don't know what to do—never before have you ignored me._

_"WHY YOU?!" The scream is raw, cracking in your throat, but your green eyes won't look away from Gil, from the quiet, dark smile on his bloodied lips. "WHY THE HELL WOULD HE GIVE YOU…YOU—" You choke on the words, scratching at my wrists to get to Gil again._

_"Jealous?" Gil says to you as he stares at me, contempt and hatred and irony burning bright as flame inside him._

_"Why would he give _everything_ to you?! Why would he make you—?!" And you tear free of my slackening hold, tightening your hands around his caramel throat and pounding his head back into the stone table, again, again. "YOU DON'T DESERVE IT!"_

_"Garfakcy, don't!" I shove you away from Gil, confusion and rage making my movement rough—too rough. __I knew the moment I'd touched you that there had been too much force behind the gesture, too much demonic strength. _

_You slam down onto the marble floor with a _crack_ like shattering bone, and for an infinite second, lie motionless._

_And in that moment, I know I've broken you more than anyone ever has. _

_Then you are shuddering, curling in yourself, fragile shoulders trembling, black and gold strands of hair ghosting across the pure white of the floor. There is a tumultuous silence on us now that even my heartbeat refuses to break. _

_Shaking, delicate arms push you up from the tiles unsteadily, and never—never before have you seemed so small._

_"Why…Why?" you mumble, and then nothing else. _

_When at last you lift green eyes to look at me, they are clouded with pearline tears, scarring trails down your cheeks. Your gaze is wavering, young, numb with unbearable _betrayal.

_And then you are gone, and Gil slumps back against the stone table, golden eye half-lidded, bloodied lips half caught in a smile._

_He laughs once in the dim tide of silence, a final blow to cut my heart from my chest. _

"Master Kharl?"

"I'm sorry… Garfakcy." It was barely above a whisper but I knew you heard it; silver-ash eyes narrowed slightly in confusion.

"Huh?" Your translucent form paused in running for a moment to focus more on me.

"It's… all right now." And then… "Let Rath tear Gil apart. Everything will be fine then." For a moment, I looked away, and even I did not understand why I could not meet your eyes. "Come home, Garfakcy."

"Yes Master Kharl." Your image died in a flicker of ash.

-)o(o)o(-

**Experiment 8918-K: "Replica"**

**Recovered Memory Feather 13**

**(Handle with care)**

I knew the orders, and I disregarded them. But you know, I think Kharl expected me to ignore them all along. I think the Star Princess expected it, and I know Garfakcy saw it coming. Sinistra slid bodily from the darkness to stand in the barren hollow beside me

**Rath is coming…** Her voice was a decadent purr in my mind. I turned to watch the sky. The full, red moon seemed impossibly close, misty as the first traces of thick, black clouds neared it. The light was harsh, almost too bright for night, and it threw the trees around us into even darker shadow, painting the wood pitch black. The air was chilling quickly, and when I exhaled softly, I could almost see my breath.

Then the crunch of footsteps sounded from the trees behind us, and I turned my head to catch Garfakcy's green gaze in the corner of my eye. His smile was a little cold, all-knowing, and he leaned back against a tree in mockery of nonchalance. So he'd planned to follow me to this moment all along—I wondered what he was expecting of the outcome.

And then, in a whisper of black and crimson and death and light, _he_ was among us. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, and then the hitch of his breath as garnet eyes met my own lilac.

_The world stops turning..._

Ash, dark and heavy, stilled the air between us. And suddenly there was nothing but _him_, nothing but the flare of a soul in the endless crash of blood and something more. The beating of his heart became my clock—each second a new eternity.

Between us lie a million unspoken words, mine and his and a thousand other voices. But inside me, there was only one repeating, repeating message. Could not say it, could not force myself to move, could not think beyond that all-encompassing, shattering, impossible feeling.

_I love you._ Infinite love.

"Hello Rath." Something was broken then between us.

"Alchemist…" Wariness, old hatred, quiet fear settled in the boy's voice that carried on the still air, as if whispered from beside me. It all carried: this madness, half an embrace and half a battle. "Kharl."

_I'm going to die_—strange to think it, stranger that I did not care. To die for Rath, with Rath, by Rath's hand, is a greater gift than Kharl could ever give me.

"It's been a long time," I smiled.

He came closer, smelling of blood and tragedy and the last vestiges of a dying flame.

"We haven't spoken since the Snowy Mountains… you haven't forgotten me already, have you Rath?" I chuckled, partly from the irony of my pretending to be Kharl and partly from the thought that he could ever forget.

He shivered, tried to hide the gesture—_but you can't hide from me Rath_—taking one step closer and looking like he wanted to back away again.

"But... that beast…" There was something childish about his voice, and he looked between Sinistra and I as if unsure who to ask for an explanation.

**Lord Kharl was not wrong**, Shinisu's amethyst eyes narrowed in contemplation. **Rath was cut more deeply by Crewger's death than he will admit. **

"This is the replacement I created for the Left Bird you stole from me. I call her the Left Beast, Sinistra," I said to Rath. "Do you like it? The form probably brings back memories for you, doesn't it?"

"Is that supposed to be funny?" For the first time since he had said Kharl's name, a hard look of anger flashed over his face, as if I had cut him with a grievous insult.

"Not at all. Consider her homage to those I have deepest respect for… Rath _Illuser_." Perhaps my smile was a little devious, a little pointed. Rath's face darkened again, a glimmer of self-contempt, and when he spoke, he hardly looked at me.

"You're… a freak." There was a quiet, building venom behind the comment that worried me more than outright rejection would have. Something in the muttered desperation made me still again, took the words I had wanted to say from my mouth. I straightened from where I had bent to stroke Sinistra, turning a harder lilac stare on his closed face.

"You're still lying to yourself. Face it—you are a demon." I had not meant my voice to be so cold, but I could not change it. "Stop pretending to be a member of the Dragon Tribe."

"You're wrong! I belong—" He blanched, red eyes wide in a terror that had nothing to do with me. Some tiny note of triumph rung inside me, but I found myself unwilling to smile.

"…To the Dragon Tribe? I knew you were confused, but I never thought you clueless. You've never fit in with them. Look at you: you suffer every day you wear that silly uniform."

He looked away, seeming suddenly smaller and very alone. But the moment I made to insult his dragon, that softer expression melted into rage that tightened all along his body—rage that only grew as I filled his head with lies about Gil. I meant to cloud his judgment, distract him as I laid the basis for a memory spell, a precious piece of my power that would surely awaken Ruin, remind him of all…

"Do you understand things better now, Rath?" I reached to brush a gloved hand across his bloody cheek. Both of us seemed equally amazed when he did not pull away. In a silent instant, the spell spilled between our touch and filled him. "You are a demon," I pressed, reaching for the memories Lykouleon had buried so very deeply.

"You belong with me."

For a long moment of silence, I was sure I had succeeded, had gone farther than Kharl had willed me to, had done the very thing he had been afraid to do.

And then: "No," Rath murmured.

I knew in an instant I had failed, had only added injury to insult and had perhaps made things worse.

"I do not suffer because of the Dragon Lord or the Dragon Tribe. _You_ are the one who made me suffer." A dangerous flare of ki was the only warning before Rath surged forward, and a sudden coldness poured inside me, as if all my blood had turned to ice.

Steel, the frigid steel of the Light Dragon Sword, pressed through my flesh, already red with blood that must be—was—mine. But for a moment, I could not even feel the blade. All there was was Rath's face: open, angry, shadowed with fear. The stunning red of his irises filled my vision; vibrant, vibrant death with centers of black abyss. Precious, beautiful.

The metallic taste of blood was in my mouth before I knew that I was dying, and resignation crossed my lips as a scarlet-stained smile.

"Such a shame. Those weren't the memories I wanted you to recall." My legs gave out beneath me, and I caught the blood black fabric of his clothes in my fist, the only thing keeping me from slipping away entirely.

"Please, Rath..." my voice was a straining whisper, "tell _me_… why do you side with the Dragon Tribe?"

He was kneeling beside me then, knees buried in my side in a way that would have been painful if so much other pain was not already welling through me.

"I… never meant to." And his voice was quiet, pressing, not his own.

For the barest of seconds, he was Ruin, beside a father he should have loved more than all the world, a father who loved him unconditionally. It was strange and wonderful and terrifying to be Kharl for him in that moment—when the world started turning again beneath us and our attentions were locked on one another so completely that even the black, heavy clouds, even the air we were barely breathing meant nothing. For a moment I was really, truly Kharl, and he was someone so much more innocent, so much more perfect.

It was a death and a love both infinitely sweet; a shared last breath, a flame-warmed descent into darkness.

The snow began to fall.

-)o(o)o(-

_So stand on the edge with me  
Hold back your fear and see  
Nothing is real 'til it's gone_

-)o(o)o(-

Author's Notes: OMG! IT'S OVER! Another chapter done! Thank the gods… I thought I was going to die writing this, seriously. I just… completely lost motivation. First there were all my other fanfiction getting in the way, then I switched my obsession over to another fandom, and then Dragon Knights ended… I'm just so glad this one is done, because the next chapter is something I have been looking forward to writing for FOREVER. **Kharl meets Lykouleon!!** And some very annoying Dragon Fighters, as well… oh, and can't forget Alfeegi…

I made my apologies for this chapter at the top, so I won't do that again… Other than that, I'm not sure what to say about this chapter. It didn't end where I thought it would, but I decided that extra bit with the real Kharl and Garfakcy just wasn't necessary. I'll probably make allusion to that scene next chapter, just to get the few parts I actually wanted from it.

Review Responses:  
**Leeayre:** Wow… that review just… scrolls and scrolls on my monitor. I get this feeling I replied to it already… I hope I did at least, because it could take pages to get back to everything you mentioned. Anyway, I'm really glad you like the way I decided to write Sinistra. Looking back, I'm pleased with the way she turned out too. I wish I was her, getting to cuddle up to Kharl all the time… I bet she could even sleep in his bed if she wanted to… Darn, I just made myself jealous. XD I want to write something featuring her as the main character. Maybe I'll do a Fallacy chapter: A Day in the Life of Sinistra. In which Kharl and Garfakcy are thoroughly used for their opposable thumbs. Hee hee, well, I hope you didn't TOTALLY hate this chapter… Please don't burn me to a crisp. I think I'll go crawl under a rock now…

**Random Irony:** Lookie, I updated! The delays everywhere else weren't just because I was being lazy… no really! I know, Mineko Ohkami's names are so interesting. For example, did you know that Gil and Laamgarnas are probably Elvish? And Avis Rara is Latin for "an odd bird"? And Tetheus is probably Greek? I love how much thought she put into a names. As far I as know, there is nothing in either version that says Sinistra is a girl. In the Japanese version, pronouns are left out—there's no "she", "he" or even "it". So the English version didn't have any clues to gender, and just picked "it". I decided to make her a girl based on her name. "Sinistra" is a feminine noun in Italian. I did make a mistake with that sentence "quite". I need to go back and read my chapters before I post them! (Sweat)

**Firefly12: **Thanks for the review! Hee hee, I feel bad for Garfakcy too. I do adore him so… I abused him in this chapter! (clings) Poor, poor baby! I hope you didn't totally hate this chapter or anything… (hides)

-)o(o)o(-


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